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“America, Arise — the Breakfast Club is on the Air!”

Page 2

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“KEEP ’EM SMILING”

IT IS MY FIRM BELIEF THAT:

— America’s homes are America’s future.

— Our American people have the wholesome courage, the fearless spirit
to overcome any brutal force that would menace the security, the fami¬
lies, the homes of which we’re so justly proud.

- — The American mixture of faith in the Almighty, ingenuity, and love
of freedom for all, spell Victory !

— All our combined efforts are needed to insure this Victory, and for it
we must be prepared to sacrifice everything.

— A spicy dash of humor and a soothing draught of inspiration are as
essentially a part of our daily diets as food itself.

- — America needs to wake up with a smile — “because a day begun happy
makes life worthwhile.”

— It is the function of the Breakfast Club as an American institution to
boost our morale in the morning when it tends to ebb lowest.

— Therefore, in peace or war, we of the Breakfast Club must “KEEP
’EM SMILING!”

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Page 4

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YOUR TOASTMASTER

On the 23rd of Dec., 1907 there arrived at the
home of Mr. and Mrs. Harry McNeill in Galena,
Illinois, a 10 lb. son whom they named Donald
Thomas- later shortened to Don sometimes spelled
D-a-w-n because he has to get up so early in the
morning.

Don’s mother reports that soon after being
born, he had a severe fit of choking, which is his
first known gag. Now he describes himself as the
tall, dark and homey type. He says “I’m just two
inches shorter than a bean pole (6 ft. 2 y2 in. to be
exact), my hair is brown since I last washed it, my
eyes are blue, I weigh 195 soaking wet, and my
favorite hobby, besides fishing and hunting, is
chopping down trees, cutting grass and digging in
the dirt or golf to you.”

Don’s family moved to Sheboygan, Wis., a city
noted for “Cheese, chairs and children.” Don
refuses to state in which category he places him¬
self. He distinguished Sheboygan by leaving there
at the age of 17 for Marquette University from
which he graduated in 1929. He had already been
on the air over a Milwaukee station for a year
after which he was fired. “No future for you in
the radio business,” said the boss. He got a job as
radio editor and announcer on another Milwaukee
station, then to Louisville, Kentucky, thence to San
Francisco, and on to Chicago and Breakfast Club
in 1933.

The McNeills in their living room include Mrs. Mac (Katherine Bennett of Milwau¬
kee until 1931) and Bobby, Tommy and Donnie, all of whom call Don “Daddy”

— among other things.

■I

Page 5

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IT’S MEMORY TIME —around the breakfast table

“If radio’s slim fingers
Can pluck a melody
From night and toss it over
A continent or sea;

If the petaled notes
Of a violin

Are blown across a mountain
Or a city’s din;

If songs like crimson roses
Are culled from thin, blue air,

Why should mortals wonder
If God hears prayer?”

- — Ethel Romig Fuller

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Page 6

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THE NATION'S STRENGTH

“I know three things must always be
To keep a nation strong and free.

One is a hearthstone bright and dear,

With busy, happy loved ones near.

One is a ready heart and hand
To love, and serve, and keep the land.

One is a worn and beaten way
To where the people go to pray.

So long as these are kept alive,

Nation and people will survive.

God, keep them always, everywhere,

The hearth, the flag, the place of prayer.”

(Anonymous)

LAUGH

Build for yourself a strong box,

Fashion each part with care;

Fit it with hasp and padlock,

Put all your troubles there.

Hide therein all your failures,

And each hitter cup you quaff,

Lock all your heartaches within it.

Then sit on the lid and laugh.

Tell no one of its contents;

Never its secrets share;

Drop in your cares and worries,

Keep them forever there.

Hide them from sight so completely
The world will never dream half;

Fasten the top down securely,

Then sit on the lid and laugh.

(Anonymous)

UNTOUCHED YET

Honey, jes’ listen, ;

Don’t cry and fret;

There’s a hull day tomorrow
Ain’t been teched yet.

Mought he a sunrise

’Twould make your heart shout, j

Look like ’twas heaven
Turned inside out.

Mought turn a corner j

Most any place,

Bes’ friend a-smilin’

Right in your face.

So heart of mine, listen, ;

Why do you fret?

God’s good tomorrow

Is all untouched yet. !

(Author Unknown)

O! GIVE ME PATIENCE

O! Give me patience when little hands,

Tug at me with ceaseless small demands.

O! Give me gentle words and smiling eyes,

And keep my lips from hasty sharp replies.

Let me not in weariness, confusion or noise.
Obscure my vision from life’s few fleeting joys.
Then when in years to come, my house is still.

No hitter memories, its rooms may fill.

(Anonymous)

Page 7

HIS FAULTS

There never was a man who had more faults
Than he. Her mother used to tell her so.

But living with him for a little while,

She turned upon his foibles the warm glow
Of her affection. If you look for weeds,

She thought, you’ll find them sure; but a man needs
The comfort of an uncomplaining wife
To cultivate the garden of his life.

As the years passed, and understanding came,
With time she learned to value and revere
The man she married, and his many faults
Seemed to her mind to make him doubly dear.

And when at last the tie that bound them parted,

And she was left to mourn him, brokenhearted,
Never through her last years could she recall
That he had ever had a fault at all!

— Anne Campbell in “Detroit News”

THREE GATES

If you are tempted to reveal
A tale to you someone has told
About another, make it pass.

Before you speak, three gates of gold.

These narrow gates: First, “Is it true?”

Then, “Is it needful?” In your mind
Give truthful answer. And the next
Is last and narrowest, “Is it kind?”

And if to reach your lips at last

It passes through these gateways three,

Then you may tell the tale, nor fear
What the result of speech may be.

— From the Arabian

Page 8

"TELL HER SO"

Amid the cares of married strife,

In spite of toil and business life,

If you value your sweet wife
Tell her so!

When days arc dark and deeply blue
She has her troubles, same as you.

Show her that your love is true —

Tell her so!

There was a time you thought it bliss
To get the favor of one kiss;

A dozen now won’t come amiss —

Tell her so!

Don’t act, if she has passed her prime
As tho’ to please her were a crime;

If ever you loved her, now’s the time —

Tell her so.

She’ll return, for each caress.

An hundredfold of tenderness!

Hearts like hers were made to bless!

Tell her so.

You are hers and hers alone;

Well you know she’s all your own;

Don’t wait to carve it on a stone —

Tell her so.

Never let her heart grow cold —

Richer beauties will unfold;

She is worth her weight in gold!

Tell her so.

— Copyright Grossett and Dunlap

• 4

Dear Don :

I’ve never missed a program since 1933, when
1 was hurt. The Breakfast Club, you, Don, and
“Memory Time” have been a religion to me.
1 really don’t know how 1 would have ever had the
courage to get along without you . . . day in and
day out. Don McNeill comes on — smiling — and
the gags are terrific! 1 wouldn’t trade a moment
of my past for a million bucks. Some day I’m
going to surprise you no end! I’ll be back on my
feet and thumbing my nose at ol’ man paralisiss.
Doggone it, Don, do you know 1 can’t ever spell
that word! — but who wants to! Don, I’m the
happiest cuss living. I just love every minute of
my life and I’m having a “whale of a good time,"
beating this paralized state of affairs. Yes sir, this
Thanksgiving day I am going to drop down on my
knees and thank God — for permitting me to live in
His wonderful world. The Black despair of War
and all it means, is man made. The World is o.k.
— it’s the people in it!

Cheerio for now,

Jimmie

Page 9

JIMMIE DAROU

AH, WASTE NO PITY

Ah, waste no time in pity, nor regret,

That I am blind and can no longer see

The deepening blue of summer skies; nor fret,

That flowers flaunt their hues no more for me.

And shed no tears that I shall never know,

Again the beauty of a greening field
Or tree; or watch a campfire’s cameo
Of night-things all in silhouette revealed.

But pray, instead, that I will always keep
The beauty of these things within my mind;

And let no wint’ry blast of rancor creep
Into my heart with blighting thoughts unkind.

Oh, pray that I may keep them ever green . . .

And learn to sing of beauty — though unseen!

— Hazel Granger Madill, Hermosa, S. D.

A NEW START

I will start anew this morning with a higher, fairer creed;
I will cease to stand complaining of my ruthless
neighbor’s greed;

I will cease to sit repining while my duty’s call is clear;
I will waste no moment whining, and my heart shall
know no fear.

I will look sometimes about me for the things that merit
praise;

I will search for hidden beauties that elude the grumbler’s

gaze.

I will try to find contentment in the paths that I must
tread;

I will cease to have resentment when another moves
ahead.

Page 10

I will not he swayed by envy when my rival’s strength
is shown;

I will not deny his merit, but I’ll strive to prove my own;

I will try to see the beauty spread before me, rain, or
shine;

I will cease to preach your duty, and be more concerned
with mine. (Author Unknown)

GOSSIPTOWN

Have you ever heard of Gossiptown
On the shore of Falsehood Bay,

Where Old Dame Humor with rustling gown
Is going the livelong day?

It isn’t far to Gossiptown

For people who want to go,

The Idleness train will take you down
In just an hour or so.

The thoughtless road is crowded, you’ll find,

For most folks start that way;

But it’s all down hill and, if you don’t mind,

You’ll land in Falsehood Bay.

You glide through the valley of Wicked Talk,

And into the tunnel of Hate;

Then, crossing the Bitterness Bridge,

You walk right into the city gate.

The principal street is called “They Say,”

And “I’ve Heard” is the public well,

And the breezes that blow from Falsehood Bay
Are laden with “Don’t You Tell!”

In the midst of the town is Telltale Park—

You’re never quite safe when there;

For its owner is Madame Suspicious Bemark,

Who lives in the street “Don’t Care.”

(Anonymous)

"IT'S BETTER THAN WORKING"

WHY WORRY

That’s my usual answer to the usual question, “How
do you like running the Breakfast Club?” Not that there
isn’t a great deal of elbow grease and mental anguish nec¬
essary to keep the show running smoothly, interestingly,
and without getting in that well known rut; yet the actual
performance on the air HAS to be fun — otherwise it
wouldn’t be the Breakfast Club. We are not good enough
actors to give the impression of a typical family enjoying
themselves around the nation’s breakfast table. We have
to BE that family. So we’ve gone along in our own slap-
happy way enjoying ourselves without benefit of script
hoping that our own obvious enjoyment of our job will
be communicated to our Breakfast Club army at home,
who need morale building, just like the members of their
family who are in Uncle Sam’s armed forces. The Break¬
fast Club is a program of music and wit — half music and
half wit. I have a wonderful cast to work with. I know
I can always depend on them for inspiration on mornings
when my mind has all the sparkle of a dull hoe. We’re
mighty proud of the constant flow of fine letters from our
Breakfast Clubbers who write over 40,000 unsolicited
letters a year to us — friendly letters like you’d write to
your own family. We’re proud of the kids who have
grown up listening to us. We’re proud of the age of our
gags — we feel if they weren’t good in the first place they
wouldn’t have lasted this long. And we’re proud that
everything we say is sincere and clean so that every
family member can listen.

Don (to son Donmj): l understand one of the kids in
your class at school said he hears me every morning.
What did you say to him?

Donny: I said “Wanna make something out of it?”

After all, why worry. Either you’re successful or
you’re not successful. If you are successful, there’s
nothing to worry about. And if you’re not successful,
there are only two things to worry about. Either your
health is good, or you’re sick. If your health is good,
there’s nothing to worry about. And if you’re sick, there
are only two things to worry about. Either you’re going
to get well, or you’re not. If you are going to get well,
there’s nothing to worry about, and if you’re not, there
are only two things to worry about. Either you’re going
to heaven, or you’re going to the other place. If you’re
going to heaven, you have nothing to worry about, and if
you’re going to the other place, you’ll be so busy shaking
hands with old friends, you won’t have time to worry — -
so why worry.

A SMILE

A SMILE costs nothing, but gives much. It enriches
those who receive, without making poorer those who
give. It takes but a moment, but the memory of it some¬
times lasts forever. None is so rich or mighty that he
can get along without it, and none is so poor but that he
can be made rich by it. A smile creates happiness in the
home, fosters good will in business, and is the counter¬
sign of friendship. It brings rest to the weary, cheer to
the discouraged, sunshine to the sad, and it is nature’s
best antidote for trouble. Yet it cannot be bought, begged,
borrowed, or stolen, for it is something that is of no value
to anyone until it is given away. Some people are too
tired to give you a smile. Give them one of yours, as
none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to
give.

(Anonymous)

- 1

Page 11

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Page 12

The Louisiana Lark

Ernest Mahlon .Tones was born in Shreveport,
La., June 29, 1908. The family lived about 10
miles out of town, and when, at the age of 8 Jack
still couldn’t swim to school, they moved to Gold¬
en, Okla., where the Lark learned to chew gum,
wear shoes, and finally earned a Bachelor of mu¬
sic degree at Henderson State College, Arkansas.

Baker really isn’t as fat as most people believe,
except in sections. He is 5 feet 7 inches tall, dark
complexion, black hair, brown eyes, (especially
the left one) and after seeing him for the first time
most women say “Ain’t he cute.”

He has a fine sense of humor, a wonderful
disposition, and is the only tenor in existence who
smokes cigars, chews gum and sings early in the
morning simultaneously.

Before he gave himself up and became a con¬
fessed tenor in Memphis, later Detroit, and finally
Chicago, he was fired from the following jobs:
Cotton picker, preacher, paper boy, saw-mill hand,
truck driver, construction worker, pipe-line work¬
er, teacher, dry goods salesman, U.S. gov’t clerk,
baseball player, basketball coach, cowpuncher,
Fuller Brush man.

Wears a size 8 shoe, likes loud ties (which he
can’t tie), eats only one meal a day (but WHAT
a meal), has a size 38 waist, a size 32 chest, long
eyelashes, and his own teeth, which are nearly
paid for.

Fancy With Nancy

Born July 15, 1913, in Wheeling, W. Va., Nancy
Martin’s family (her father is a doctor) moved to
New Martinsville, a large town, if you include its
suburb — Pittsburgh, where “li’l ole Naneybelle”
first became interested in boys and pianos in that
order.

After the customary number of years, and
more than the usual number of dates, Nancy
graduated from high school, and then Western
College, Oxford, Ohio, where she studied voice,
hoping someday to become a voice-president, no
doubt.

In 1934 she got on the radio in Pittsburgh, and
although the locale is now Chicago, she hasn’t
been able to shake the wireless yet — as if any of
her thousands of air-admirers would ever want
her to.

Nancy’s specialty is her own interpretation of
popular songs with interpolated recitations which
she writes herself. Perhaps the most requested
song she sings is her famous Christmas version of
“Santa, Bring My Mommy Back to Me.” When
she discusses the latest in fashion hints, the cast
says “Let’s get fancy with Nancy.”

She is a very attractive brunette with brown
eyes and curly hair. She has a smile that’s as
fresh as a Spring morning. She weighs 115 lbs.
in her nylon feet, likes red dresses, men, new
shoes, men, composing songs, men, Red Cross
work, men, good books, and men.

Page 13

■^Wl-

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“Dear Earl”

Born Marion Bateson at Columbus, Ohio,
Sept. 9, 1914. “What-a-Mann” stands 5 ft. 4 in.
tall, weighs in at 120 lbs., has olive complexion,
brown hair, gray eyes, and abounding enthusiasm.

She’s very sweet and rations her gas, hut she
refuses to change her Earl. He’s the hoy friend.

After graduating from a Columbus high school,
Marion sang “for free” with a girl’s trio on a local
station. Emerson Gill hired her to sing with his
orchestra, and then Boh Crosby hired her away to
do likewise.

Before all these breaks, Marion had one that
wasn’t at all lucky. An auto accident left her with
a fractured pelvis, broken collar bone, and skull
puncture, nearly ending her song career. But she
didn’t let it, and after leaving Crosby for Break¬
fast Club she’s learned to cook and tell riddles.

No samples of her cooking being available —
here is a typical riddle as she tells it. “What did
the little chicken say when it saw that the mother
hen was sitting on an orange instead of an egg?
Oh look at the fruit mamma’s got. I mean, oh
look at the orange mammalade.”

Page 14

I LOVE YOU

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I NEVER THOUGHT TO OFFER THANKS

I love you not only for what you are
but for what I am when I’m with you;

I love you not only for what you have
made of yourself but what you are making
of me;

1 love you for putting your hand into my
heaped up heart and passing over all the
foolish weak things you can’t help dimly
seeing there, and drawing out in the lighl
all the beautiful belongings that no one
else had looked quite far enough to find;

I love you because you are helping me to
make of the lumber of my life not a tavern
hut a temple, out of the work of my every day
life not a reproach but a song;

I love you because you have done more than
any creed could have done to make me good
and more than any fate could have done to
make me happy;

You have done it without a touch, without
a word, without a sigh;

You have done it by being yourself.

Perhaps that is what being a friend means,
after all.

(Anonymous)

Marion: II was one of those shoe-repair marriages —
a good soul and a run down heel.

I’ve always said my daily prayers
For I thought that I should pray.

And so I learned the routine ones
And said them every day.

They were the ones that someone else

Had written long ago

So they were never quite my own;

But how was I to know.

Just what to say to God that would
Explain to Him my needs
When I had everything I wanted?

I never thought of it as greed.

To ask for more and more of life;

For fortune and for great success
With all about me friends to make
And share my happiness.

And so for all the wealth of life —

The kind not stored in banks —

For just the breath I drew each day,

I never thought to offer thanks.

But now it seems that I grow wiser

With the coming of each day

And I am substituting “Thanks” for “Please”

When it’s time for me to pray.

— Elizabeth Smith

A Breakfast Club fan in Hot Springs, Arkansas, who
has no hands or feet, frequently writes a long letter by
holding a pen in her teeth.

Page 15

Dear Mother :

This evening many of my buddies who have never
known anything else other than love and companionship
of our fellow-man, died. They were swell fellows just
like the neighbor’s son across the street; the kid behind
the drug counter who always seems to wear a smile even
though the hours are tough, and too, like all boys in these
states of ours, true Americans to the man. Needless to
say, they were murdered by rats. They did not have
a chance. They will never see their homes, mothers, or
the states they loved enough to lay down their lives for
again. They wanted no war. They wanted no blood on
their hands because they were Americans, and Americans
have tried to abide peacefully by the laws of God since
the birth of this nation. Yet hundreds of them died.
Although, truly the deed is stunning and unbelievable, it
is done.

We are sure now of what was for a long time doubt¬
ful in our minds, the question of the possibility of an
enemy dropping out of nowhere, striking and then van¬
ishing. We know that it could just as easily be our own
homes, families and friends that would be the target.

There was a time when we could fight our war from
the pulpit. It’s more serious now. Our own lives are
threatened to the extent that we must fight, or die, and
life is too beautiful a thing to throw to a bunch of rats
without a fight. We will fight! We will win! Because
we fight not only under the greatest country’s colors in
the world, but most of all, under God’s colors. Some will
die, because the Almighty wills it that way, and we trust
everything in God’s judgment.

We are not afraid, Mother, because the thought of our
loved ones back home suffering any of the pains of war
erases all instincts of fear.

The gallant men who have met death this day will not
have died in vain.

We go into this thing with a prayer on our lips; our
heads are high, wits keen and eyes wide open.

We, as men, don’t pretend to he able to understand
the depth of a mother’s love, hut personally, I pray that
you, Mother, will put all the feeling, love and consecration
of your entire being into prayer, instead of useless
worrying, fretting and tears.

Although I’m not mentioning any names, I know some
slant-eyed sons of Satan who had better get religion quick
before those pearly gates slam in their faces.

Keep your chin up, Mother, and remember you’re my
best girl.

( Written to a Mother after Pearl Harbor)

My dear, dear Son :

War has been declared! Knowing your deep love for
me your first reaction will be “What will Mother think?”
so I shall tell you; Today my eyes are filled with tears
for I am a woman, and women do not like war. BUT my
heart is bursting with pride because I am the mother of
a soldier who will fight to protect my country and home
from an invading enemy. The war in Europe seemed so
shadow-like and unreal, like an interesting hook whose
chapters unfolded from day to day, hut now it has ceased
to he fiction and is grim reality knocking with mailed
fist at our door. The news has depressed your father
and I am working overtime to be gay and cheerful to keep
him from worrying too much about you. That will he
woman’s part in the war, to be cheerful, for morale is as
important as arms in this crisis.

War is bad — terrible — hut somehow I have a feeling of
relief that things have come to a head. For a long time,
as you know, I have been troubled that your generation

seems to have become soft and self indulgent — too pleas¬
ure-loving, taking all from life and giving little in return.
I admit the sin belongs to MY generation. Things were
not always easy for us of the older generation, and in
our mistaken love and blindness we have tried to shield
you younger ones from hardships — forgetting it is by
eternal struggle and fighting mankind becomes strong,
physically and morally. Alas, my generation has sown
the wind and your generation must reap the whirlwind.
It seems unfair, but remember when you are paying our
debt, we will be suffering a thousandfold because of our
mistakes. It is old-fashioned to speak of honor, self-
sacrifice and duty — yes, even of God — the family cheque¬
book has taken the place of the family Bible in many
homes, but history, especially the Bible (which is the
history of mankind), teaches that whenever man has had
life too easy he has turned to money-madness, self-indul¬
gence and wickedness. Then have come wars, catastro¬
phes and misery until he turned to God. We are not
alone — whole generations of mankind before us have trod
the path. So it is our task to cling fast to that which
is good, true and noble and find the right path again.
I pray we may win victory over our enemies, but even
more shall I pray that we win victory over the selfish¬
ness and warring elements within ourselves. When we
have gained that victory nothing from without can ever
really conquer us.

My prayers will wrap you as in a coat of armor, but
should it be your lot to pay the supreme price — which
God forbid — then it is better to die for a constructive
cause than to live an unconstructive life. While war is
anything but a constructive thing, I believe the aftermath
of this conflict will usher in an era of the greatest spirit¬
ual awakening this world has ever known, I am proud
that you will have a share in this work. As you know,

we are so much alike you have always been very near
and dear to me, and I feel it is fitting that you, of all my
children, should be called to fight for the ideals which
I have taught you. I would feel dishonored if my son
should fail his country and me at this great time in hu¬
man history — I would feel that I had lived in vain.

Forgive me if I seem a trifle melodramatic — just re¬
member this is an unusual day in my life. Tomorrow
I will write you all the foolish mother-things about eating
proper food, keeping your feet dry, etc., but today I am
more concerned with your spiritual needs. My love and
prayers will be w’ith you always.

Wherever you may be sent my heart-beats will keep
time to your marching feet, and I pray they will lead to
victory.

Ever your devoted Mother

A MOTHER TO A SON IN SERVICE

Wherever you are this day, my precious son,

God hold you close, God keep you safe from harm.

In this strange victory that must be won
It takes your youth, your strength of heart and mind.
Your valor and your courage and your might
To bring to pass the miracle of peace.

God keep you facing forward toward the light
That waits ahead for you when war shall cease.

Take God as your companion, 0 dear Heart,

We must not, dare not face the days alone.

With Him for comrade we can do our part
And staunchly, bravely face the great unknown.

I, too, must be a valiant soldier, for

That is what mothers are when there is war.

— Grace Noll Crowell

Page 17

:n>

St&**

Our Chief Steward

He couldn't help being a musician. Prodded
by his parents, at an early age he stopped playing
with his toes and started on the piano as a child
prodigy traveling over the country.

Walter was born in Milwaukee, Wis., July 26,
1893. He has black hair, brown eyes, stands 5 ft.
10 in. tall and weighs 165 lbs.

When he was 15 he had composed two num¬
bers and used the proceeds to help pay for the
home of his parents, to whom he has always been
exceptionally devoted.

His musical career suffered a serious setback
when he broke his wrist, necessitating an opera¬
tion. So he went to school and studied medicine,
but soon abandoned bandages for baton and
organized a band in 1911, playing for years at
Chicago’s Tip Top Inn. He conducted for Calve,
Garden, Raisa and composed such hits as “Your
Eyes Have Told Me So,” which sold over 2,500,000
copies and “My Isle of Golden Dreams,” which did
even better.

He took several trips to Europe, got into real
estate, became very wealthy, then real estate got
to him, and he got out, not very wealthy.

Walter is an insatiable diner, likes to play
handball and the horses (especially the last horse
in any given race), and spent most of the latter
part of 1942 recuperating from an illness. He has
been married for a long time (according to Mrs.
Blaufuss) .

see**1'

ORCHESTRA REHEARSING MUSIC FOR SHOW

Page 11)

COMPANIONSHIP

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It isn’t that we talk so much!

Sometimes the evening through
You do not say a word to me;

I do not talk to you.

I sit beside the reading lamp.

You like your easy chair,

And it is joy enough for me
To know that you are there!

It isn’t that we go so much!

Sometimes we like to roam
To concert or to theater,

But best of all is home.

I sew a bit or read aloud
A book we want to share,

And it is joy enough for me
To know that you are there!

It isn’t that you tell to me
The thing I’ve come to know.

It goes too deep for words, I think,

The fact you love me so.

You only have to touch my hand
To learn how much I care,

And it is joy enough for me
To know that you are there!

— Anne Campbell in “Detroit News”

Walter Blaiifuss wanted to be a surgeon and Mrs. Blau-
fuss still has to watch him. Every time they get a new
book in the house Walter tries to sneak off with it and
remove the appendix.

7( I— 1 :

Page 20

os*-

THOSE HILLS OF LONG AGO

•O,

Remember that time, long, long ago
When your heart was full of sorrow;

When every day weighed down your grief
And made you fear tomorrow.

Was it someone dear to you
That grim death took away;

Did your best friend prove untrue — -
Oh, weren’t you sad that day.

Your love? A heartache there —

That romance? You remember?

As you hear the strains of an old sweet song,
It kindles every ember.

Every memory is revived
Each heartache reappears;

But only for a moment
Your eyes are dim with tears.

For all these disappointments
Have mellowed with age.

You scan your book of memories
And turn another page.

Yes, every hill you’ve climbed in life
Looked impossibly high —

When you were at the bottom
And looked up toward the sky.

But once life’s hills surmounted
They level backward — so
You sigh — and then in time forget
Those Hills of Long Ago.

— Don McNeill

LIFE

Man comes into the world without his consent and leaves
it against his will.

During his stay on earth his time is spent in one contin¬
uous round of contraries and misunderstandings.

In his infancy he is an angel.

In his boyhood he is a devil.

In his manhood he is everything from a lizard up.

In his duties he is a durned fool.

If he raises a family, he is a chump.

If he raises a check, he is a thief, and the law raises cain
with him.

If he is a poor man, he is a poor manager and has no
sense.

If he is a rich man, he is dishonest but smart.

If he is in politics, he is a grafter and a crook.

If he is out of politics, you can’t place him, and he is an
“undesirable citizen.”

If he goes to church, he is a hypocrite;

If he stays away from church, he is a sinner.

If he donates to foreign missions, he does it for show.

If he does not, he is stingy and a “tight wad.”

When he first comes into the world everybody wants to
kiss him;

Before he goes out they want to kick him.

If he dies young, there was a great future before him.

If he lives to a ripe old age, he is in the way, only living
to save funeral expenses.

Life is a funny proposition after all.

(Author Unknown)

■l

Big Bill Krenz at Inspiration Time

Page 21

vfStev* i - -

THE PEOPLE SPEAK

Just how many listeners will be glad to suggest
improvements for a broadcast is discovered in the fan
mail. One fan wrote: “We wish you would play only
soothing music. Our baby has colic and we set him in
front of the radio. If your music is soothing, he goes to
sleep.” The letter came from Ridgefield, New Jersey.

Another listener in Roseau, Minnesota, suggested the
orchestra speak up when making asides. She com¬
plained that the music drowned out these remarks which
she was certain might be funny. The orchestra contin¬
ues to speak softly and play loudly.

Another listener wrote in to say he didn’t care if the
program was changed, hut he did want his broken leg
paid for. He insisted he broke the limb in falling over
a chair as he hurried to tune the program out.

One even sent his own menu for the Meal of Friend¬
ship on the show. For the hors d’ oeuvres he suggests
laughter and smiles. The cocktail is inspiration. For
a salad he lists jolly times. The dessert is lovely songs.

The toast runs like this: May the spirit of friendship
and good cheer generated by these happy meetings glow
with increased brightness until it becomes the beacon
light of peace around the world! As a climax to the meal
the listeners order nuts, or as he puts it: why mention
names?

DON'S SWAN SONG TO GASOLINE!

(To the tune of “A Bicycle Built for Two”)

Gasoline, gasoline, I give you my promise true:

I’m half crazy — getting to work without you.

No matter how long the day be,

Mr. Henderson, I don’t mean maybe —

I don’t look neat — with my big feet —

’Cause our bicycle’s built for the baby.

Cage 22

A TRUE STORY

A battalion of soldier boys had been given copies of
the Bible, the New Testament and the Old Testament.
They were then given strict orders that each one was to
use the Bible at the services on Sunday.

The following Sunday, while the soldiers were at
services, the officer of the day made an inspection and
found that one soldier had not brought the new Bible so
he was searched and the only thing that was found in his
pocket was a deck of cards. He was told to report to the
commanding officer on Monday morning.

The next day when he reported before his officer, he
was reprimanded and then asked if he had anything to
say in his own defense. This is the way he replied:

“Sir, this pack of cards means a great deal in my life
and tells me what is in the Bible, and even more, for — -

“The One-spot tells me that there is but one God.

“The Two-spot tells me that the Bible is divided into
two parts, the Old and the New Testaments.

“The Three-spot that there are three Persons in the
Holy Trinity.

“The Four-spot that the New Testament was written
by the four Evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

“The Five-spot that there are five Foolish and five
Wise Virgins.

“The Six-spot that the world was created in six days.

“The Seven-spot that the seventh day of the week is
the Sabhath, on which I must pay my respects to my
Creator.

“The Eight-spot reminds me of the eight beatitudes,
the greatest sermon preached by our Lord.

“The Nine-spot tells me of the nine lepers who did not
return to the Savior to give thanks.

“The Ten-spot reminds me of the Ten Commandments
which 1 must keep to save my soul.

“The Jack is the knave, the Devil who goes about
seeking the destruction of souls.

“The Queen is the Mother of Heaven, the Mother of
God.

“The King is the Kingdom of Heaven which will be
my reward of a good life.

“Even more than that. This pack of cards is also an
almanac for me.

“There are 52 cards in the deck, telling me there are
52 Sundays in the year.

“Add up all the spots and you will find 365 in all,
telling me there are 365 days in the year.

“There are thirteen cards to the suite, which tells
there are thirteen lunar months in the year.

“In all there are 12 face cards and so there are 12 cal¬
endar months in the year.

“There are four various suites: hearts, diamonds,
spades and clubs, signifying the four seasons of the year,
spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

“There are light and dark cards, telling me that each
twenty-four hours is divided into day and night.

“This is the meaning of the pack of cards to me, 1 have
nothing more to say.”

The soldier boy was forthwith honorably discharged.

(Author Unknown)

Rapidly approaching the counter the talkative old
lady breathlessly said to the grocery clerk : “How much
are lemons? What do you charge for oranges ? How
deep is the river? When does the train leave?” The
poetic clerk replied: “Two for a nickel, three for a dime,
up to your neck, half past nine.”

■I

Page

fo.

—

Page 24

vv'.oic/w

Escorts and Betty

«*&£>

There have been two changes in the personnel of this
act who specialize in smart, modern arrangements. The
original Betty (Betty Olsen) has married and been
replaced by Helen (Betty) Nash. This vivacious song¬
stress is escorted by Cliff Petersen, Floyd Holm, and Ted
Clare, whose real name is Hansen. Doug Craig, pianist
and arranger, who joined the navy, has been supplanted
by Ken Thompson, who carries on in the same capacity.
Not too deep a military secret is the fact that the hoys,
who hail from Duluth, Minnesota, also double as the
“Swedehearts of St. Paul” — an act which comes to them
quite naturally.

Romeos

Until Uncle Sam called, it used to be Sam, Gil, and
Louie. The latter two unmarried members — Gil Jones
and Louie Perkins are now in the army — while Sam
Cowling, complete with his wife and two offsprings,
continues with Carl (Larry) Chase and Boyce (Bill)
Smith. The original trio started in Jeffersonville, Ind.,
and the hoys under Sam’s tutelage, still specialize in Hill
Billy Hammy Drammies and (usually) funny songs and
sayings.

■i

Vagabonds

One of the greatest colored quartettes, the four boys
who started in St. Louis specialize in instrumental
imitations, spirituals and jive. Robert O’Neal, Norval
Taborn, John Jordan and Ray Grant are the boys’ right
names — but they are more often known as Lewishous,
Cyclone, Security and Contagious. Ray, with his deep
bass voice, lias created a sensation on Breakfast Club as
“Pappy” with his “How-do gals” and crazy recipes.

Cadets

Originally it was Al, Cal, Sam and Lonnie — with Reo
Fletcher at the piano. Lonnie’s unfortunate death sev¬
eral years ago, and the fact that Sam is now Col. Sam
Thompson of the U. S. Army, have resulted in two new
voices — that of Homer Allen (Snodgrass) of Arkansas,
and Ralph Nyland of Boston — being added to those of Al
Stracke and Carl Schiebe. Reo continues at the piano,
and frequently raises his voice three octaves to become
“Little Oleetha.” One of the finest legitimate quartettes
in radio, listeners especially enjoy them at “Hymn Time.”

Page 25

Vi - ■■■ :

TEN YEARS

OF BREAKFAST
CLUB HISTORY

IQQO Formerly known as
the “Pepper Pot”
under the leadership of Bill
Ivephart and King Bard as
announcers, with Walter
Blaufuss and a small or¬
chestra, this hour of net¬
work “fill-in” was re-chris¬
tened “Breakfast Club,” and
on June 23, Don McNeill be¬
came “messer of ceremo¬
nies.” Charlie Butler, the
engineer, and Sleepy Joe
Englehart and his violin,
were familiar names. The
vocalist was Dick Teela.
This year saw the advent of Bug Dance, Memory Time,
the One-Act Plays and Elmer.

DICK TEELA

10^4. Ringing acts were added to the show. Old Time
Breakfast Clubbers will recall the fine appear¬
ances of Marion and Jim Jordon (now Fibber McGee and
Molly), the Merry Macs, Songfelloivs, Three C’s, Morin
Sisters, Ranch Boys, Fields and Bill Thompson. In March

JACK OWENS

the first out - of - the - studio
broadcast occurred, a pickup
from Florida, where Babe
Buth wras entertaining fifty
youngsters at the Yankee
Training Camp. In April
Jack Owens replaced Dick
Teela and in October, with¬
in a week. Jack became the
father of Mary Anne Owens,
and Don McNeill the proud
papa of Tommy. Boy! . . .
and how they bragged!!

1 QOC Familiar names this
Igvw year wrere Gale
Page, The King’s Jesters,

Hollywood Hi-Hatters, Ban¬
gers, Mary Steele, 3 Flats,

Sylvia Clark, Dr. Pratt and
the Doring Sisters. Edna
O’Dell became the first regu¬
lar girl vocalist. Orchestra
names to be remembered:

Arrigoni, Martin (both de¬
ceased), Faschaur, Spiegle,

Kayser, Short, Krenz, Koo-
den, Kendle, Wheeler, Bal-
lentine, Smith. Many are EDNA 0 DELL

still with the band. World

Cruises in fantasy were a part of the year’s entertainment.
In December, Tommy and Mary Ann, at the ripe old age
of 14 months, made their radio debut.

Page 26

!■

1999 Perhaps the year’s
highlight was the
famous “Breakfast in Bed”
broadcast with Don fulfilling
a long felt ambition to con¬
duct the show, pajama-clad,
from his own bed at home,
complete with wife and kid¬
dies, while Jack, Annette
and the orchestra carried on
from the studio. The book
of poems “Memory Time”
made its appearance. “In¬
spiration Time” was added
“Breakfast in Bed’’ to the show, the Ranch Boys
left to travel 4,000 miles
across country on horseback, and Annette King became
Mrs. Frank Reid, Jr.

1 QPQ 1° May> Annette left
IwMv to await the arrival
of Sir Stork - — who made
a later personal appearance
with a swell baby girl. In
February, Baker became
every-day soloist, no longer
dividing male vocal honors.

Among others, Ralph Smith
and his “Mokey” . . . Bill
Krenz and his piano . . .

Elmer and his romance, the
Dinning Sisters, Vass Fam¬
ily, Vagabonds, Cadets, Mo¬
rin Sisters, and Escorts and
Betty carried on with Don.

Evelyn Lynne and Nancy Martin became Breakfast Club
regulars.

Ralph and “Mokey”

Page 27

Ihpp In March, Clark
Dennis became of¬
ficial tenor, shortly preced¬
ed by Helen Jane Behlke as
the feminine half of the
team. When the funeral
services for King George
were broadcast before Break¬
fast Club, Walter Blaufuss
and Don composed “My Ca¬
thedral” — still a favorite
hymn with listeners. Donny
was added to the McNeill
family in April and in Sep-
BOB BROWN tember the Breakfast Club

was awarded the Radio
Guide Medal of Merit as an outstanding program. In
November, Annette King and Jack Baker joined the fold,
along with Bob Brown, “Prime minister of the perco¬
lator.”

1937 Aunt Fanny made

XVVi her debut, along
with Johnny Johnston. Clark
Dennis left to join Fibber
McGee’s show. The Three
Romeos crawled out of the
woodwork and started to
sing. Jack and Annette car¬
ried on, Helen Jane Behlke
departed, and on Christmas
morning, driving to the stu¬
dios with a car full of gifts
for underprivileged children
who were guests that day,
Don was arrested for speed¬
ing.

HELEN JANE BEHLKE

Readers of
Radio G u i d e
picked Breakfast Club as
their favorite program
and Don as favorite M. C.

Nancy, Evelyn and Jack
rated tops. Don built
his log cabin “Lumbago
Manor” (it has a creek
in the back). More than
120 radio station repre¬
sentatives and agency
men attended a broad¬
cast— an unofficial record in early-rising for wireless
executives. Local sponsorship on individual stations was
a huge success. Listed on the roster of sponsors wrere
jewelers, bakers, grocers, laundries, dairies, refrigerators,
furniture companies, headache remedies, department
stores, auto dealers. Members of the cast received samples
of almost every product sold except from the automobile
manufacturers.

1 Q4_1 Again Radio Guide readers placed the Breakfast
Club, its singers, and master of ceremonies on
top of its list of air favorites. Swift & Company became
coast-to-coast sponsor No. 1. Over 100,000 fans sent
their autographs to Jack Baker for his Scrap Book —
reversing the usual process. Don built a new' home in
Winnetka, deciding it was cheaper than getting sued for

back rent; and in October,
Cream of Wheat and Acme
Paint became members of
the sponsor family. Evelyn
Lynne left to marry Eddie
Ivoontz and live in Tulsa,
Oklahoma, and Marion Mann
now shared honors with
Nancy. The Swedehearts of
St. Paul were born in the
minds of the Escorts and
Robert Patrick McNeill (No.
3) was born to Mrs. McNeill.

100,000 Names

1 04-2 a resu*t an honorary degree at Saint
Bonaventure College it wms now Mr. Donald
Thomas McNeill, Doctor of Letters, or Dr. McNeill for
short, but not for long. While Walter Blaufuss recuper¬
ated, Kogen and Gallichio carried on. The cast began
drawing straws to promote the sale of bonds and stamps,
as war quickened the tempo and morale-building value
of the show. In cooperation with the U. S. Treasury, 400
Bond Breakfasts were held throughout the nation. In
a broadcast from Chicago’s breakfast on American Heroes
Day, over $25,000,000 in bonds were sold. Don started
his tenth year as M. C. and Radio Guide listeners made
him “Star of Stars.” The first anniversary of Swift spon¬
sorship was celebrated. Cream of Wheat was amongst

■:w^fSVvi.

those present. The Quiz Kids and Don exchanged appear¬
ances. Hollywood finally discovered that there was a
Breakfast Club and offers to make a movie were being
considered by the gang.

The Breakfast Clubbers were appearing in person
more and more often throughout the country at large
bond rallies, Army Camps and patriotic affairs. Now an
American institution, the show is the nation’s official
getter-upper!

1943?

1944?

1945?

1946?

Page 29

■iw^fSVvi'

REHEARSAL

Well, sir, after all these years, one of the most care¬
fully guarded secrets of radio is out, exposed by Oper¬
atives K-9 and H-2-0 after weeks of stealthy kibitzing
behind the scenes. The truth revealed is that Breakfast
Club does have a rehearsal! As proof, our operatives
offer a transcript taken via dictaphone, at a meeting of
the Breakfast Club Rehearsal Guild and Planning Board.
The meeting, held after the show any morning, was at a
large table in a restaurant where the gang gathered before
rationing for a second cup of coffee.

McNeill — Jack, you got your numbers cleared for to¬
morrow?

Baker — Yup.

McNeill — How about you, Nancy?

Martin — Yup.

McNeill — Walter (Blaufuss), got some good tunes on?

Both — Yup.

McNeill — Well, I guess we’re set then.

Baker — What you gonna talk about tomorrow?

McNeill — Dunno, something funny, I hope!

Martin — How about me getting a phone call from
home? I could tell them about the new dresses I saw in
the loop.

McNeill — Oh — getting fancy with Nancy, huh?

Baker — It ain’t bad. How about a poem about my
budget?

McNeill — Yeah, or about your car.

Baker — What’s my car got to do with it?

McNeill — Well, you could say you make out your
budget every week.

Baker — Yeah.

McNeill — But this morning your car wouldn’t run so
you couldn’t budget.

*»C^u

Martin — Say — that’s pretty good.

Baker — Not bad.

McNeill — Say, I’ll use it. What time you want to bowl
this afternoon?

Martin — How about taking me with you?

McNeill — You sure you want to? We bowl for high
stakes, you know.

Martin — That’s okay with me— I’ve got a spare dime.
Baker — That ain’t bad.

McNeill — RemiiuJ me to use that in the morning, too.
Martin — Well, may I go with you?

McNeill — Sure.

Martin — Well, I’ll see you then.

McNeill — Separate checks.

Marlin — Separate checks.

Baker — Sav — that ain’t bad.

I LOOK AT LIFE

SOMETIMES I think that God in His love
Looks down from His throne in heaven above;

And if He weren’t so wise and so true

Would almost laugh at the things that we do—

Taking and giving with never a thought

Of a price we must pay for what we have bought;

How all our struggles for that thing and this

Could, at His summons be thrown amiss.

I’m certain, were He a less kindly Lord
Would long ages since, have grown very bored
And possibly could have set up a stand
And charge for a “peek” at this funny old land.

But, no, He just nods and says with a smile —

They’ll all stumble back here — after a while.

— Loretta V. Snyder

-ICv!

C8S

Page 30

EARFUL FOR BRIDES

Just because your hair is curly,

And your teeth are white and pearly,

And your figure’s very lovely, and you’re cute —

Don’t imagine, for a minute,

That it’s bunk, there’s something in it,

When I issue this grave warning — FEED THE BRUTE!

Wedded bliss is very simple,

Just forget about your dimple,

Mobilize your thoughts ’round hubby’s inner man —
Study goulash and boloney,

And pig’s feet and macaroni,

And get chummy with a pot and frying pan.

If you’d win a loyal booster,

Every Sunday boil a rooster,

With a peck of noodles draped around its frame —

Feed him waffles smeared with honey.

And you’ve got his love and money,

And you’ll never need to fear some other dame.

Men are lugs and heels and sinners,

When they’re hungry for their dinners,

And just spoiling for a chance to bawl you out —

But they’re mild beyond comparing
When they’re gorged on pickled herring,

Or their tummy’s full of beans and sauerkraut.

Never mind your swell complexion,

And your eyebrow’s arched perfection,

It’s a kitchen apron now that makes you cute —

It’s a sad fact, but don’t doubt it,

For there’s no two ways about it,

If you’d have a happy marriage — FEED THE BRUTE!

( Author Unknown)

THE FINISHED NURSE

(From the “Entre Nous” of Hartford Hospital
Training School for Nurses.)

If you can keep your bed when those about you
Are losing theirs and moving in on you;

If you can trust yourself when M.D.’s doubt you
And keep within your proper limits, too;

If you can keep a heap of laundry linen
And have it ready early Monday morn,

And lose it, start anew with smiles most winning
And not regret the day that you were born;

If you can give a bath in fifteen minutes

And dress a wound, nor lose the sterile touch;

If you can keep on good terms with your roommate,

If all men count with you but none too much;

If you can learn the art of good suggestion,

And practice it and not talk nurse’s shop;

If you can answer any doctor’s question,

And decrease Digitalis gtt. by gtt.,

Sponge, miss your supper and admit a patient;

Report at roll call and get off at eight,

Attend a lecture and get put on special
And then get sat on for a weary gait;

If you have in your heart the hope of winning
Only the good, and not deceitful fame;

If you can see life ending and beginning
And treat the two imposters just the same;

If you can live on five or six odd dollars
And dress as well as with a fuller purse,

You’ve done the stunt and everything that’s in it;

And then, my dear, you are a finished nurse.

Page

A LETTER FROM A SON TO HIS
DEAD FATHER

Dear Dad :

I am writing this to you, though you have been dead
thirty years. I feel I must say some things to you, things
I didn’t know when I was a boy in your house, and things
that I was too stupid to say.

It is only now, after passing through the long, hard
school of years, only now when my hair is grey, that
I understand how you felt. I must have been a bitter
trial to you. I believed my own petty wisdom, and
I know now how ridiculous it was compared to the calm,
ripe, wholesome wisdom that was yours.

Most of all, I want to confess my worst sin against
you. It was the feeling I had that you did not under¬
stand; you understood me better than I did myself. Your
wisdom flowed around mine as an ocean around an
island.

How patient you were with me; how full of long
suffering and kindness. How pathetic, it now comes
home to me, were your efforts to get close to me, to win
my confidence, to be my pal. I wouldn’t let you. I
couldn’t. What was it that held me aloof? I didn’t knowr,
but it was tragic, that wall that rises between a boy and
his father, and their frantic attempts to see through it and
climb over it.

I wish you were here now, across the table from me,
just for one hour, so that I could tell you how there’s no
wall anymore. 1 understand you now, Dad, and God how
I love you and wish I could go back and be your boy
again. I know now how I could make you happy every
day. I know how you felt. It took a good many years
for this prodigal son, and all sons are in a measure prodi¬
gal, to come to himself. I’ve come. I see it all now. I

Page 32

know what a rich and priceless thing, and one least
understood, is that mighty love and tenderness and crav¬
ing to help, which a father feels toward his boy, for I have
a hoy of my own.

It is he that makes me want to go hack to you and get
down on my knees and ask you to hear me, Dad, and
believe me.

(Author Unknown)

LIFE'S WEAVING

My life is hut a weaving
Between my God and me;

I may not choose the colors,

He knows what they should be;

For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,

While I can see it only
On this, the lower side.

Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,

Which seemeth strange to me;

But I will trust His judgment,

And work on faithfully;

’Tis He Who fills the shuttle.

He knows just what is best,

So I shall weave in earnest
And leave with Him the rest.

At last when life is ended,

With Him I shall abide,

Then I may view the pattern
Upon the upper side;

Then I shall know the reason
Why pain, with joy entwined.

Was woven in the fabric
Of life that God designed.

— Father Tabb

gf<T*»

Don, the dog, and the “diggins”

When trouble comes, or loss, when grief is ours to bear.
They come, our friends, with words of cheer, our load
to share.

How could we face defeat without a friend’s caress.

Had we no friend to praise, how bare would be success?

’Tis not God’s plan that we shall see Him face to face.
Yet, He would hedge us in His abounding grace,

And so, His messengers of love to earth He sends.
They’re angels, but we know it not, and call them
“Friends.”

( Author Unknown)

A DOG'S PRAYER FOR HIS MASTER

O Lord of Humans, make my master faithful to his
fellowmen as I am to him. Grant that he may he devoted
to his friends and family as I am to him. May he be
openfaced and undeceptive as I am; may he be true to
trust reposed in him as I am to his.

Give him a face cheerful like unto my wagging tail;
give him a spirit of gratitude like unto my licking tongue.
Fill him with patience like unto mine that awaits his foot¬
steps uncomplainingly for hours; fill him with my watch¬
fulness, my courage, and my readiness to sacrifice com¬
fort or life.

Keep him always young in heart and crowded with
the spirit of play even as I. Make him as good a man as
I am a dog; make him worthy of me, his dog.

—Will Judy

FRIENDS

’Twould never do for God to live across the street
Or in the house next door, where we should daily meet;
So, in His wisdom and His love, He sometimes sends
His angels kind, to walk with us, — we call them friends.

Page 33

5KV - - - - — — -

"IF"

If you can go to church, when all about you,

Are going everywhere but to the house of prayer,

If you can travel straight, when others wobble,

And do not seem to have a righteous care;

If you can undertake a noble service.

Expecting others to pitch in and boost,

But find them doing everything to hinder
Or sitting down like biddies on a roost.

If you possess yourself and pray, “God bless you” —
When every muscle in you aches to smite;

When something says, “Give up, give up the struggle!
Since others fall, why stand alone, and fight?”

You’ll find a Presence by you, in the furnace,

You’ll find a Presence by you, on the sea,

You’ll find a Presence by you, in the battle —

Yes! everywhere and always, Victory!

If you can trust, when others faint and falter.

Or stand and serve, when others flee away.

Unmoved by either Jezebel or Ahab,

P>emaining faithful every livelong day,

If you can keep your courage up, and boost it,

Yes! boost the Church right on, until the end,

You’ll prove yourself a very Noble Human,

And what is more, you’ll be a SAINT, my FRIEND!

(Author Unknown)

One time Breakfast Club inaugurated a “3-Minute-Egg-
Timing-Service” for people who were fixing soft-boiled
eggs for breakfast. However, Don forgot to ring the bell
for seven minutes and folks all over the country had
hard-boiled eggs that morning.

-pi¬

page 34

A RECIPE FOR COOKING A HUSBAND

A good many husbands are utterly spoiled by
mismanagement. Some women go about it as if their
husbands were balloons, and blow them up. Others
keep them constantly in hot water. Others let them
freeze by their carelessness and indifference. Some keep
them in a stew by irritating ways and words. Others
roast them. Some keep them in a pickle all their lives.
It is not supposed that any husband will be tender and
good, managed in this way. But they are really delicious
when properly treated.

In selecting your husband, you should not be guided
by the silvery appearance as in buying a mackerel; not
by the golden tint as if you wanted a salmon. Be sure to
select the finest to be had. See that the linen in which
you wrap him is nicely washed and mended with the
required number of buttons and strings tightly sewed on.
Tie him in the kettle with the strong silken cord called
“Comfort,” as the one called “Duty” is often weak. Make
a clean steady fire out of love’s neatness and cheerfulness.
Set him as near the fire as seems to agree with him. If
he sputters and sizzles, do not he anxious. Some hus¬
bands do this until they are quite done. Add a little sugar
in the form of what confectioners call kisses. But no
vinegar or pepper, on any account. A little spice im¬
proves him, but it must be used with judgment. Do not
stick any sharp instrument into him to see if he is tender.

Stir him gently, watching the while, lest he lie too flat
and close to the kettle and become useless. You cannot
fail to know when he is done. Thus treated, you will
find him reliable, agreeing with you and the children,
and will keep as long as you want him unless you become
careless and set him in a cold place.

(A tested recipe by a mother who raised five children.)

THE MODERN SALESMAN

•WKCTi

Some folks may think that a modern salesman has
a fairly easy time of it. Well, to my mind, a salesman
nowadays must he a man of vision and ambition, a before
and after dinner speaker, a night owl, and a day hawk.
He must drive all night and appear strictly fresh the next
day, learn to sleep on the lloor and eat two meals a day
to economize on traveling expenses.

He must be able to entertain without becoming too
amorous, inhale dust, drive thru snow 12 feet deep at
10 below and work all summer without perspiring. He
must be a man’s man, a ladies’ man, a model husband,
a fatherly father, a devoted son-in-law, a good provider,
a plutocrat, democrat, republican, a new dealer, old
dealer and a fast dealer.

He must be a sales promotion expert, credit manager,
correspondent, attend all jobber clinics, dealer meetings,
tournaments, funerals and births, visit customers in
hospitals as well as jails.

He must have a car or a good thumb. He must also
be an expert driver, talker, liar, dancer, traveler, bridge
player, poker hound, toreador, golf player, diplomat,
financier, capitalist and philanthropist ... an authority
on palmistry, chemistry, archaeology, psychology, mete¬
orology, criminology . . . dogs, cats, horses, trailers,
blondes, red heads, lingerie and no-fattening candy for
the sales girls.

He must also have the curiosity of a cat, the tenacity
of a bulldog, the determination of a taxi cab driver, the
diplomacy of a wayward husband, the patience of a self-
sacrificing wife, the enthusiasm of a jitterbug, the good
humor of a silly master of ceremonies, the simplicity of
a jackass, the assurance of a college boy, and the tireless
energy of a collector of past due bills. That’s all it takes.

KISSES

There are many kinds of kisses among which are the
duty dab; the soul kiss, which is a sort of serial; the polit¬
ical kiss such as candidates give to babies; the double-
barrelled kiss which whiskered generals bestow upon
heroes; and the inimitable kiss which results when a wad
of chewing gum gets tangled up with an embryonic
mustache.

❖ * *

KISS CAKE RECIPE

Take: 1 armful of pretty girl

1 loving face

2 laughing eyes

2 rosy cheeks

2 lips like strawberries

Mix together and press two lips. The result will be
amazing.

For frosting; Take piece of dark piazza and a little
moonlight and press into one large or small hand (so as
not to attract attention); two oz. of romance and one or
two whispers. Dissolve half glance into a quantity of
hesitation and two oz. of yielding. Place kisses on blush¬
ing cheeks . . . then add to lips . . . flavor with a slight
scream and set aside to cool!

DEFINITIONS

Blue eyes gaze at mine .

Soft hands clasped in mine

Fine hair brushing mine .

Red lips close to mine .

Lithe body close to mine .

Footsteps .

Vexation

Palpitation

Expectation

Temptation

Aspiration

Consternation

Page 35

REMEMBER THE TIME—

A downstate Illinois woman con¬
fided that she felt pretty useless
just sitting and listening; ordinari¬
ly, she heard the show while doing
the breakfast dishes (?). Don McNeill
immediately sent out to the sound
effects department for a tank of
water and an armload of assorted
crockery. “I can’t work without
an apron, this is my Sunday dress,”
said his practical guest. The gal¬
lant McNeill doffed the coat to his
new summer suit and converted it
into a utilitarian coverall. “There
doesn’t seem to be much point in
washing dishes,” the lady pointed
out, “they’re pretty clean.” The
unstumpable Don sent post haste to
the downstairs restaurant for food
with which to soil the dishes. As
far as breakfast was concerned,
Don’s guest wasn’t having any —
she’d et; however, a small hoy in
the audience handled that hurdle.
Don had forgotten rubber gloves
and then getting water just the
right temperature took another 15

minutes and left 10 minutes to go.
But the final hurdle looked insur¬
mountable — no soap. Luckily, how¬
ever, a member of the audience
from out of town had stayed over¬
night in a loop hotel, and naturally
had a bar of soap in her suitcase!
* * *

The Breakfast Club gang unwit¬
tingly prevented a marriage from
breaking up? A woman in a New
York town wrote that she had de¬
cided to leave her husband and, in
fact, had sent the children to her
mother, packed up, and was wait¬
ing for a cab when she turned on
the radio to kill time. First she
heard Jack Baker singing “I Walk
with Music,” immediately followed
by McNeill’s Memory Time period,
in which he read a poem about
married life and the duties of
a wife to her family. By this time,
the woman had changed her mind
completely. When the cab came
she dismissed it, unpacked and sent
for the children.

A watermelon weighing over one
hundred pounds was received from
Hope, Ark., and consumed on the
air — Baker and Pappy’s children
getting the greater share.

“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!”

Page 36

Jack Baker did a song attired in
red flannels . . . proving that there’s
many a slip, etc.?

The studio visitors included
a woman who was heading back to
England after arriving in Chicago
a few weeks before, to leave her six
year old son with relatives (?) . She
was heading for an unknown port
in an unknown ship, having been
assigned to Red Cross duty in the
Midlands. Sometime, about six
weeks later her son appeared again
on the Breakfast Club and his
mother was able to hear his voice
in England at three o’clock in the
afternoon. What a thrill that must

have been for her!

❖ ❖ *

Jack and Don discussed whether
or not they should give free plugs
to grapefruit in Baker’s poems!?).
A man and his wife, in the comfort
of their breakfast nook down in
Texas heard the argument. “It’s
funny,” said the husband, “that
when he mentioned grapefruit pro¬
ducing states he mentioned Florida
and California but left out Texas.”
The Mrs. answered, “Your hearing’s
defective ... he did mention Tex¬

as.” An argument started . . . “I’ll
bet you half my interest in the
grove against your half interest that
he didn’t!” snapped he. “You’re
on,” shouted his wife, with a gleam
in her eye and immediately called
up Don who admitted that he
had indeed mentioned Texas . . .
so Mr. lost his plants!

* * *

Five years ago in St. Paul, Minn.,
a housewife decided to repay some
of the entertainment she had re¬
ceived as a listener by making
a crocheted tablecloth for M.C. Don
McNeill and his family!?). Daily,
thereafter she spent 45 minutes cro¬
cheting “wheels” for the tablecloth
while listening to the Breakfast
Club. Having finished the project,
she put the tablecloth momentarily
on a pile of papers in the kitchen
so that she could answer the tele¬
phone. The apartment janitor came
in while she was talking on the
phone, picked up the papers, and
unknowingly, the tablecloth. Soon
her five years of needlework had
gone up in smoke. In 1947, pro¬
vided no other disaster intervenes,
the McNeills will receive another
hand crocheted tablecloth, she says.

Walter Blaufuss answered a chal¬
lenge that threatened to upset his
reputation as the biggest eater on
the Breakfast Club, issued by a fan
from Shoemakersville, Pa. (?) . It was
reliably reported that the challenger
had disposed of 114 clams at one
sitting, little neck and all. But
Blaufuss won, hands down, in
a broadcast.

It was somewhat of a jolt to the
group to discover they put a hus¬
band in the dog house!?). McNeill
received a letter from an Ohio
housewife, chiding him for not
sending her his photograph, which
she’d “requested exactly seven
times.” Don hastily sent the photo
with a note to the effect that some¬
thing must have gone wrong some¬
where — his files showed no other
letter from her. He received a bul¬
ky letter in return and a checkup
revealed not only the handful of
letters to McNeill but several others
in her husband’s coat pocket.

% * *

Long before the radio ban on
weather reports Don observed that
he and the cast were going to pro¬
ceed to blow away whatever local

Page

fog might exist across the country?
The entertainers thereupon gave
vent in unison to a loud “pfooo!”
The whoosh hardly died out of the
nation’s loud speakers when Don
McNeill received a call from Keo¬
kuk that local skies were clearing.
More calls of similar purport came
in from Cleveland and Denver.
Next day the weatherman reported
clear skies from the Atlantic to the
Pacific. However, the McNeill Fog
Lifting Service produced some odd
by-products. One fan claimed that
the radio draft had completely
cooled off his cup of coffee.

* * *

Don granted the last request of
a U.S. Marine, a World War veter¬
an, for whose life doctors at Ellis
Island, N. Y., had given up hope, to
see the Breakfast Club, and visit his
sister in Seattle?

* * *

Jack Baker grew’ a mustache to
prove he wasn’t a tenor at heart?

* * *

A pajama manufacturer sent
every member of the cast a nice
new pair of pajamas so they
wouldn’t have to bother dressing
before the show?

Page 38

A little girl in Hewlett, N. Y.,
deathly sick, heard her song re¬
quest played on Breakfast Club and
miraculously recovered?

* * *

Listeners w'ere invited to do the
“rug dances” — that is, pull their
living room rug up by the roots,
pull down the shades, and flit
gracefully through the house?
Many listeners reported that they
actually followed instructions, in
fact, one lady in Trenton, N. J.,
danced so hard that a rain spout
shook loose from the roof and hit
a maid who was shaking a rug out
of the window below’ . . . also in
time to the Breakfast Club orches¬
tra?

* * #

A Burkettsville, Ohio, fan sent in
a letter which measured 7x5 feet?

* * *

A dentist was found in the audi¬
ence and the cast turned the tables
on him by making him stuff his
mouth w7ith chocolate candy and
then firing questions at him thick
and fast? One of the best gags ever
pulled!

One day’s mail brought three
boxes of fruit, some Florida sea
shells, a set of cactus ash trays,
four live alligators, two sets of false
teeth, a bird house, three dolls,
a rubber fish, a cowboy hat, and
a summons?

* * ❖

Don overslept and made the story
on the next page untrue?

* * *

Jack pumps the water, Don holds
the mike, and a studio guest sham¬
poos Benng Gill’s hair.

- 1^,

Don has only been late for the show three times —
twice it was the train’s fault, and the third time it was
a terrific blizzard, of which McNeill said “I opened the

front door, turned
and waved goodbye
to the wife and kid¬
dies, stepped out on
the front porch, and
disappeared for 20
minutes.” The only
persons who arrived
on time that morn¬
ing were Walter
Blaufuss, the engi¬
neer and a bass
player. By the time
the show was three-
fourths over, there
was finally a quo¬
rum of the cast
present.

Bundling, eh?

Some of the persons, very important to Breakfast Club,
but little known to its listeners are Sidney Strotz (now
one of radio’s top executives) who insisted on hiring Don
McNeill for Breakfast Club over the vetoes of his asso¬
ciates; the brave engineers and ditto producers, like
Bob White, who sit in the control room throughout the
hour; Virginia Holleman, secretary to Don and Jack, who
has to listen to that stuff all day long; the personnel of
the many radio stations carrying the program — managers,
announcers, engineers, switchboard operators, etc., who
are among our best boosters; the present big shots of the
Blue Network in New York and Chicago, with special

bows to Ed Borroff, V.P., Jim Stirton, program manager,
and Joe Hartenbower, demon salesman, who allow the
show to go on its own sweet way; and the loyal fans who
write week after week, year after year.

A SHUT-IN'S PRAYER

Last night the moon pulled anchor
And sailed down the milky way
And peeped into a sanatorium window
Where a lonely shut-in lay.

Then the moon seemed to shine more brightly,

Each star seemed to nod its head,

And the world seemed all the more peaceful
When they heard what the shut-in said :

“Dear Lord in Heaven, I earnestly pray to Thee.
You’ll hear my prayer, now won’t you?

And lay a healing hand on me?

I trust I am not asking

Too much of your healing wealth,

When I so humbly ask of you
To give me back my health.

Dear God, the world forgets me —

I’ve been a shut-in so very long,

I’m needing your love, dear Jesus,

I’ve still in my heart a song.”

The moon sailed on its journey
The stars twinkled up above
The shut-in drifted to dreamland —

What is greater than God’s love?

(Author Unknown)

Don: IIow is your car runnin’?
Sam: Tirelessly. Tirelessly!

Page

S$5V' - -

A TOAST TO MOTHER

1 will drink this toast to the woman I love.

To the woman who has been the beacon light of my
life; it matters not where I may be tossed upon life’s
perilous waves, when the storms rage about me and the
wild billows roll high, she stands as a lighthouse signal¬
ing to me a port of safety and ever welcome refuge.

To the woman whose tender words fell upon my ears
as music sweeter than melodies played by an angel upon
harp strings of gold.

To the noble woman who pressed the first kiss upon
my brow, and who first suffered that I might live; whose
tender hand rocked the cradle of my infancy; whose ever
watching eye safely guarded me through the primrose
days of childhood; who weathered me through the storms
of youth and whose unselfish life is ever ready to sacri¬
fice, if such sacrifice will but pay the price of my liberty,
welfare or success.

To the woman who has been to me a shelter from the
rain, a fortress in danger, and an inspiration in defeat;
who is the first to smile and applaud me when success
crowns my efforts, and the first to weep and console me
when the clouds of sorrow hover close about me.

To the woman who was my first love in life’s rosy
springtime, and the only true sweetheart I have ever had;
who is my only true and certain friend; who, when all
others have deserted me, and when life seems one cold
and barren peak, will be with me and near me till the
last, and, who, with one kind word, can bring out the
sunlight hidden behind the heaviest cloud.

To the woman who has been to me what the diamond
is to the gold; to me what the fragrance is to the rose;
to me what the sunlight is to the day.

To the woman whose purity is unsurpassed by the

Page 40

snow that crowns the hilltops or the spotless lily of the
field, and whose whole life has been that of an angel,
though on earth, and that of a queen, though uncrowned.

To the woman whom God in His goodness gave to me
as a friend; whom I may trust without fear of treason;
upon whom I can depend without fear of desertion and
that I may love her and know her as my own Dear
Mother. (Anonymous)

AS HIS MOTHER USED TO DO

He criticized her pudding and he
found fault with her cake;

He wished she’d make some biscuits
as his mother used to make.

She didn’t wash the dishes and she
didn’t make a stew,

Nor even mend his socks as his mother
used to do.

His mother had six children, but by
night her work was done;

His wife seemed always drudging, tho’
she only had the one.

His mother always was well dressed,
his wife might be so, too,

If she would only manage as his
mother used to do.

Ah! Well, she was not perfect, but
she tried to do her best

Until she thought her time had come
to have a rest.

So when one day she went the same
old rigamarole all through

She turned him up and spanked him,
as his mother used to do.

(Author Unknown)

MOTHER

iv*7)i5Vvi

Too late, clear, I realized how much you meant to me,
and all you have done for me. May God, in His infinite
kindness, have mercy on your soul, my guiding star, and
may yours be the Kingdom of Heaven.

Day and night, Mother, I shall always pray for your
soul, pray that God will give you the just reward you so
richly deserve.

I’d scoff at your sensitiveness, your tears, which of
late, fell so often, dear. When you became ill, I begged
you to smile, to wipe that unhappy look from your face.
I brushed your hair, grey with care and worry, from your
forehead, and kissed you so tenderly. It was as if God
were telling me that soon you would be gone and no more
would I have a chance to gaze at you, dearest Mother.

May God give me some of the strength which never
ceased in your life. You taught me compassion, toler¬
ance, and independence. May I ever be the way you
would like me to be, Madonna, so that your soul will
never know unrest.

To me you were always a hero. Not once would you
let us think that yours was the life of a Martyr. Bravely
you did a man’s job, never complaining, always confident
that we never had to use anybody because you still had
strength enough to go out and work for us.

You never failed us ever, and whenever I asked you
why you never stopped doing those everlasting favors
for us, wisely you told us that when you were gone, we
could always remember you and think kindly of you.

If you did not love us as much as you did, you might
have been here with us today. Instead of caring for
yourself, even near the end, you put us first to your life.

The only way I can ever let you know how sorry I am
that I couldn’t have been a better daughter is to pray to

God always that He may grant you the rest you earned.

Often when I am desolate and lonely, I vision your
beautiful face, with its happy smile, telling me to “take it
easy,” and everything will be all right.

— Evelyn Namnoun

WHY GOD GAVE US MOTHERS

Dedicated to the Breakfast Club mothers
by Aunt Ida Sandage, Louisville, Ky.

There had to be someone to care
Someone to grieve when we’re not there
Someone to offer up a prayer
When we are weak and sinning!

Someone just has to love us still
When all the world has used us ill.

And aid us with unflagging will
To start a new beginning!

Someone just has to think we’re great
Proud lords and masters of our Fate,

And give us praise that will elate
So we can beat our brothers!

Somebody has to cheer us on
And aid us when all hope is gone
To bravelv face another dawn,

And so God gave us— MOTHERS!

A general and a colonel were walking down the street.
They met many privates and each time the colonel saluted
he would mutter “same to you.” The general’s curiosity
got the best of him and he asked “Why do you always say
that?” To which the colonel answered “l was once
a private and I know what they’re thinking.”

■I

Page

MOTHERHOOD

Down in the valley of shadow we go,

How far in those depths, we never know,

Months of waiting, hours of pain,

Then it’s over, we’re smiling again.

A kiss from the Daddy and to see his proud smile,

Then to hold in your arms your own baby child,

That’s Heaven, that only a Mother can know.

And it’s worth all the suffering thru which we must go.

Oh the mighty strength of those wee baby hands,

That clasp two hearts together like iron bands,

Those dear little arms two hearts will entwine
With a love that’s so sacred it’s almost divine.

Have you ever wondered, if it is really worthwhile,

To hold in your arms your own baby child?

My dear I will tell you — if I had my choice
Of some wonderful talent, a beautiful voice,

A gorgeous home with enormous wealth,

Together with these I’d have strength and health,

But in order to have them it must be understood
That I’d be denied the joy of Motherhood.

Oh I might have been tempted, had I never been blest
With the joys of clasping a babe to my breast,

I might have been tempted, had I not known the bliss
Of a baby’s arms and a baby’s kiss.

For each new babe gets the same tender care,

When another one comes, there is more love to spare.
We may want a daughter and receive a little son,

But we’re happy and contented when all is said and done.

Page 42

In this world of ours, no home is complete,

That has not known the patter of little feet.

And no woman can give to this world her best,

Until with Motherhood her life is blest.

— Edna Allen Exchenback

FRIENDS

I think that God will never send
A gift so precious as a friend,

A friend who always understands
And fills each need as it demands
Whose loyalty will stand the test,

When skies are bright or overcast.

Who sees the faults that merit blame.

But keeps on loving just the same;

Who does far more than creeds could do
To make us good, to make us true,

Earth’s gifts a sweet enjoyment lend
But only God can give a friend.

— Dr. Bosalie Carter, Franklin, Tennessee

Funny how limes have advanced. Grandmother used
a roller towel, a comb suspended by a string and a dipper
shared by everyone, and probably lived to be eighty or
ninety years old. Now we get exhausted before our lime
finding out what we’re allergic to. But there’s one thing
that hasn’t changed. When your fiance’s family begin
balling you out for using the guest towel, you've become
accepted as one of the family.

A settled married man is a guy whose pipe goes out
oftener than he does.

A FATHER'S CONFESSION TO HIS SON

Listen, Son:

I am saying this to you as you lie asleep, one little paw
crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily
wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your
room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my
paper in the library, a hot, stifling wave of remorse swept
over me. I could not resist it. Guiltily I came to your
bedside. These are the things I was thinking, son:

I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were
dressing for school because you gave your face merely
a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning
your shoes. I called out angrily when I found you had
thrown some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things.
You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on
the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread.
And as you started off to play and I made for my train,
you turned and waved a little hand and called, “Good¬
bye!” and I frowned, and said, “Hold your shoulders
back.”

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As
1 came up the hill road I spied you down on your knees
playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings.
I humiliated you before your boy-friends by making you
march ahead of me back to the house. Stockings were
expensive — and if you had to buy them you would be
more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father! It was
such stupid, silly logic.

Do you remember, lately, when I was reading in the
library, how you came in, softly, timidly, with a sort of
hurt, hunted look in your eyes? When I glanced up over
my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at
the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.

woisvvi'

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous
plunge; and threw your arms around my neck and kissed
me, again and again, and your small arms tightened with
an affection that God has set blooming in your heart and
which even neglect could not wither. And then you were
gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper
slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear
came over me. Suddenly I saw myself as I really was,
in all my horrible selfishness, and I felt sick at heart.

What had habit been doing to me? The habit of
complaining, of finding fault, of reprimanding — all of
these were my rewards to you for being a boy. It was
not that I did not love you, it was that I expected so much
of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my
own years.

And there was so much that was good, and fine, and
true in your character. You did not deserve my treat¬
ment of you, son. The little heart of you was as big as
the dawn itself over the wide hills. All this was shown
by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good
night. Nothing else matters tonight, so I have come to
your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there,
choking with emotion, and so ashamed! It is a feeble
atonement. I know you would not understand these
things if I told them to you during your waking hours,
yet I must say what I am saying. I must burn sacrificial
fires alone, here in your bedroom, and make free confes¬
sion. And I have prayed God to strengthen me in my
new resolve. Tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will
chum with you, and suffer when you suffer and laugh
when you laugh. I’ll be a real daddy.

(Author Unknown)

Gentlemen prefer bonds — ask the man who owns one.

Page

Breakfast Club Alumni

Fibber McGee and Molly, or Marion and Jim Jordan
as they were “knowed as in them days” when they were
Breakfast Club favorites.

Here we have charming Annette King (Reid) in her
Breakfast Club Days.

* *

Evelyn Lynne used to struggle daily with her
Diary.”'

‘Dear

Page 44

■iK’SfgVs?!

The girl in the upper
circle is Jeanette; then
come the Cheery Sisters
with their cousin Doug
Craig; and upper right is
Aunt Fanny talking to her¬
self (Fran Allison). Left
and center are the Ranch
Boys and Morin Sisters —
to their right, the Dinnings
— and the two handsome
ex-Breakfast Club singers,
Clark Dennis and Johnny
Johnston. Lower left are
the Merry Macs — next Bill
Thompson in his “Mister
Wimple” get up — and last
— lovely Gale Page — re¬
member?

Page 45

- ■ . .

IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?

(From the New York Sun of September ‘21, IS!) 7 )

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus
prominently the communication below, expressing at the
same time our great gratification that its faithful author
is among the friends of The Sun:

“Dear Editor : / am eight years old. Some of

my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa
says ‘If you see it in The Sun it’s so.’ Please tell
me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

— Virginia O’ Hanlon, 115 \V. Ninety-fifth St.”

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have
been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They
do not believe except they see.

They think that nothing can be which is not compre¬
hensible by their little minds. All minds, VIRGINIA,
whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this
great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his
intellect, as compared with the boundless world about
him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping
the whole truth and knowledge.

Not believe in SANTA CLAUS! You might as well not
believe in fairies! You know generosity and devotion
exist, and you know that they abound and give to your
life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would
be the world if there were no SANTA CLAUS. It would
he as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would
he no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make
tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment,
except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which
childhood fills the world would he extinguished.

Not believe in SANTA CLAUS! You might as well not

Page 46

■iwf

believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men
to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch
SANTA CLAUS, but even if they did not see SANTA
CLAUS coming down, what would that prove? Nobody
sees SANTA CLAUS, but that is no sign that there is no
SANTA CLAUS. The most real things in the world are
those that neither children nor men can see. Did you
ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but
that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can
conceive or imagine all the wonders that are unseen and
unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes
the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen
world which not the strongest man, nor even the united
strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could
tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can
push aside that curtain and view and picture the super¬
nal beauty and glory beyond. It is all real! Ah, VIR¬
GINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and
abiding.

No SANTA CLAUS! Thank God! he lives, and lives
forever. A thousand years from now, VIRGINIA, nay,
ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue
to make glad the heart of childhood.

There was a fellow who hadn’t been to church for
some time who met the preacher on the street one day.
He said to the minister: “Would you please pray Sunday
for Esmerelda?” The preacher was mighty pleased that
here was a man coming back to the fold so he }>romised
he would pray for Esmerelda Sunday. A couple days
later they met again and the preacher said: “Do you want
me to keep on praying for Esmerelda?” The guy said:
“No, never mind. Esmerelda came in Monday and paid
15 to 1.”

TRIMMING THE TREE

“Yes, children, Daddy’s going to put up the Christmas
tree, now — it’s half the fun of Christmas . . . Yes, you
can watch if you don’t monkey with anything . . . Now
first of all, Daddy’s going to make a stand for the tree”
. . . (Dots denote passing of ten minutes while he looks
unsuccessfully for hammer, nails and boards) . . . “Well,
children, it’s belter, anyway to fill a bucket with sand
and set the tree in that — Yes, of course, Mamma, I’ll do
it outside so it doesn’t get on the carpet . . . Hey, Junior,
get away from that tree — sure it’s your Christmas tree,
but leave it alone until we get it in place — LEAVE IT
ALONE, I SAY! ... I know, I know, I’m not yelling at
them — I’m just trying to tell them . . . O.K., now we’re
going to have fun decorating the tree . . . Let’s see,
where are the lights — only two strings of ’em? — Well,
that’ll do, I guess — if they work . . . Where’s that exten¬
sion cord we use? . . . Huh? . . . What’s it doing up
there? . . . We got to have it ... I don’t care if we
can’t have a lamp in the bedroom then — we gotta have
lights on the Christmas tree, don’t we? . . . We’re gonna
attach the plug now, kids, and you can see all the pretty
lights — if they light” . . . (They don’t) . . . “Well, one
of them must have burned out — all I gotta do now is test
16 of ’em . . . Junior, you leave the lights alone — Daddy
will do it ... I know you want to help, but you’ll break
them . . . Who broke this one that won’t work now? —
Well, I didn’t . . . Are you going to quit asking questions
and fooling with things, dear, or do you want Daddy to
slap your little ears off? . . . I’m not losing my temper
with them — I’m just trying to keep them from tearing the
tree down . . . Huh? . . . Well, if you can get along
with them so much easier, why aren’t you trimming the
tree? . . . You will, huh? . . . O.K., O.K., I’m going out

for a while, and if I’m not back in an hour, look for me
in some nice, quiet madhouse!” (Anonymous)

•TWAS THE CHRIS BEFORE NIGHTMAS

’Twas the chris before Nightmas, when house through
the all

Not a stir was creatching mouse even a not;

The chims were hung by the stockney with care
In nicks that St. There would soon be hopeless
When out on the rose there lawn such a matter
I sprang from my clatt to see what was the batter
Then appear to my whatering eyes should wonder
But a sleighiture tindeer, and eight mina rain
With a quick old liver so drively and little,

I knew in a niekment it must be St. Mome.

To the porch of the top, to the wall of the top
As wild hurricanes that before the dry fly leaves
When the ob with a meetstacle, sky to the mount,

And there in a roofling I heard on the twink
The poofing and hraneing of each little paw
As I round in my turn and was heading adrew
Down the hound came St. Chim with a nickimey.

His drool littlebow was drawn up like a mouth
The teeth of a stump held tight in his pipes
And his head encircled his smoke like a wreath
He had a belly face and a round little broad
He was elfy and joll, a right plump chub
He work not a spoke, but went straight to word
And filled all the jerks and turned with a stocking
And raising up the nodimey he gave a chim
He whistled to his sleigh, to his team he gave a sprang
And athistle they all dawn like away of a flew
But I drone him as he exclaimed out of heard
Crissy Hapness to all and to good an all night.

(Author Unknown)

Page 47

■iv*'5!Svji'

THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS

’Twas the night after Christmas and all through the home
Raged a terrible headache wherever you’d roam;

The house looked a wreck; there were signs everywhere
To prove to the world that St. Nick had been there.

The children were still having fun with their toys —

And breaking all records for long-sustained noise,

When out of the hall there arose such a clatter
I opened the door to see what was the matter
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a man in distress and devoid of all cheer;

He lay on the floor of the corridor narrow

And out of the small of his back stuck an arrow . . .

It had come from the bow of his own little lad
1 knew in a moment it must he poor dad!

* * *

I rushed for the phone and had just turned around

When mother crashed into the room with a bound.

Pursued by a child with rifle. Oh, well.

It seems that, to please him, she played William Tell.

The apple was okay but mother was not —

There wasn’t a shadow of doubt she’d been shot;

The kid was still shooting his air-gun — how merry!

He yelled, “Play some more, ma! It’s funny, ma, very!”
* * *

Behind him came Willie, the boy from next door —

He carried a sword and he yelled, “Let’s play war!”

He rode on a broom, took a wild swing at me
And carved quite a strip from the cap of my knee;

Then out of his room tottered old Uncle Lew,

His arm in a sling and one leg, I think, too;

He’d helped little Oscar try out a new sled
And had quite a gash on the top of his head;

He’d also been playing with Ethelbert’s skis

And murmured quite weakly, “The ambulance, please!”

* * *

Next grandpa came wallowing out of the hath —

(I never had seen any man in such wrath) —

He looked all awash; he was all dripping wet.

His clothes were all soused; he was angry, you bet;

It served him quite right, any man is a did)

When he tries to sail children’s toy boats in the tub!

* * *

I stood there aghast when, no fooling, Aunt Nell
Swooped through on a kiddy-car, going pell-mell;

She upset the tree . . . there were sparks from a wire . . .
I knew in an instant the house was on fire!

* * *

Then things all went black and when next I came to
I was out on the lawn with a pulmotor crew;

The house was still burning, the kids, little dears!

Were dancing and shouting and giving three cheers;

The fire chief stood and completed his work;

He snickered a bit, then he turned with a jerk.

And laying a finger aside of his nose,

And, giving a nod, he said, “Roll up the hose!”

He jumped in his car, sounded siren and whistle
And away he then flew like the down from a thistle.

* * *

And I heard him explain to his smoke-eating boys,

“Well, adults WILL play with the kids’ Christmas toys!”

- — II. /. Phillips in the New York Sun
December 26, 11)35

Bettp: Did you ever hear the story of the vacuum?
Well, there's nothing in it.

ONE MONTH AFTER CHRISTMAS

’Twas the month after Christmas, when all thru the house
Not a creature was smiling, e’en dad, the old grouse.

The store bills were stacked on dad’s roll-top with care,

In hopes that collectors soon would be there.

Poor old dad was nestled all snug in his bed,

While visions of constables danced through his head.
Mamma in her ’kerchief, and dad, the poor sap,

Couldn’t pay for the gifts, let alone take a nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter;

Dad sprung from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window he flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and counted the cash.

When what to Dad’s wondering eyes should appear —

But a big moving van and eight husky men near!

With a little old driver so lively and quick;

Dad knew in a minute it must be a trick.

More rapid than eagles those cursers they came,

And they whistled and shouted and called dad a name.
“Now, dash you, now, darn you, we’ll teach you a lesson!”
The way that they shouted had poor dad a-guessin’.

They raced to the porch and right into the hall;

Dashed away, dashed away, dashed away, all!

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
So into the parlor those cursers, they flew,

And gathered up all gifts on which payment was due.

A bundle of junk each had flung on his back,

And each looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
Their eyes, how they twinkled! Their dimples, how merry
As each one in his turn gave dad the raspberry.

Each had a broad face, and a little round belly
That shook when each laughed like raspberry jelly.

Dad, frightened and stumped — the right jolly old elf,

Had to laugh as he watched them in spite of himself.

No one spoke a word; each kept on with his work.

And filled up the big van, then turned with a jerk —

And wiggling their fingers in front of their noses,

And giving a laugh, to the big van, each goeses.

They all sprang aboard and poor dad gave a whistle
As away they all flew like the down on a thistle.

And they heard dad exclaim as they flew out of sight,
“That’s a load off my mind!” and “It suits me all right.”

— Alan F. Herdman, Branchville, N. .1.

PAPPY'S RECIPE

Listen, my children, and you will hear
Of the ride of Santa and his eight reindeer,

And wherever he would walk, he wouldn’t make noise.
Even tho’ he suffered from a slight case of over dupoise.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Pappy’s recipes danced in their heads.
Mamma in her long flannel gown and Pa in his cap,

Oh, what a way to take a measly little old nap.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

And in so doing, I left only the sash.

Caused by the jolt of my brains, I do declare
I spied the little man who wasn’t there.

And he sat there feeding me his gopher stew
Full of important ingredients like Vitimin P-U.

He said, “You’ve been feeding this mess to everybody else
Now you try a big part of it yourself.”

I said, “No, not that! dear host —

I’d rather face a graveyard with a big white ghost.”

So forget about me and eat Mama’s turk

And you’ll never have to worry about gastronomical burp!

Page 49

585V

BREAKFAST CLUB

DID YOU KNOW THAT:

Walter Blaufuss once bet $5 on a horse that ran last,
and then found out after the race that he could have
bought the nag for a buck and a half?

* * *

No script is used on Breakfast Club, with the excep¬
tion of commercials or special war-time announcements.
Now and then Bon refers to a fcwr notes and gags he has
jotted down in his notebook, and outside of that, all that
goes on is completely unrehearsed and made up on the
spur of the moment?

HARDY KOGEN

When musicians see Harry
Ivogen, the usual greeting is
“Hi ya, Harrv — wrhat’s Ko-
gcn ?”

* * *

Annette King has a hoy
and a girl and maybe by the
time you read this — that is
an understatement?

* * *

Jack Baker really does

weigh considerably less than
the average full grown
horse?

* * *

The Breakfast Club has received a special citation
from the U. S. Treasury Department for its work in pro¬
moting the sale of U. S. War Stamps and Bonds?

* *

Nancy Martin, the “Sweet¬
heart of the U.S. Male” who
is always being kidded about
chasing the men, actually
has more dates offered her
than she could possibly
handle?

* * *

When Marion Mann reads
a letter to her boy friend,
Earl, she has a real, live Earl
in mind — no kidding!

* * *

Nancy Bowls ’Em Over

More than 75,000 persons now witness the morning
broadcasts of Breakfast Club every year?

* *

The husbands of Evelyn Lynne and Betty Olson (for¬
merly of the Escorts and Betty), and Evelyn Morin (of
the Morin Sisters) are in Uncle Sam’s Service?

Page 50

The gang you hear on Breakfast Club have so much
fun that listeners have suggested that the performers pay
the Blue Network instead of vice-versa?

Brittle Creek, Grand Rapids and Lansing, Michigan; Erie,
Pennsylvania; Nashville and Shelbyville, Tennessee; Hot
Springs, Arkansas; Louisville, Kentucky; Hammond, In¬
diana; Shreveport, Louisiana; Fort Worth, Texas; St.
Petersburg, Florida; Ottawa and Montreal, Canada; New
Haven, Connecticut; Providence, Rhode Island; Pitts¬
burgh, Pennsylvania; Indianapolis, Indiana; and that the
tremendous attendance at these performances is rapidly
approaching the half million mark?

“ — So that’s what they look like!”

It still takes two alarm clocks, his wife, three kids,
two dogs and a dash of cold water to get Don up. But as
soon as he arrives in the studio — all is different. Break¬
fast Club has changed McNeill from an early morning
grouch to a man who is at his best in these matutinal
hours w^hen a smile means so much. He disclaims credit
for the success of the show, saying, it’s the Breakfast

The rumor that the Navy is taking over Don McNeill’s
shoes to use as convoy ships, is totally unfounded?

Joe Gallichio has the most beautiful head of skin in
the radio business?

In addition to its Chicago appearances, the Breakfast
Club cast has appeared in such cities as Youngstown,
Cleveland, Toledo and Dayton, Ohio; St. Paul, Minnea¬
polis and Duluth, Minnesota; Buffalo, New York City and
Jamestown, New York; Kansas City, Springfield and St.
Louis, Missouri; Des Moines, Iowra; Milwaukee, Janesville
and Madison, Wisconsin; Fargo, North Dakota; Tulsa and
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Wichita and Topeka, Kansas;
Omaha, Nebraska; Birmingham, Alabama; Jackson, Flint,

JOE GALIACHIO

Big, ain’t it!

Page 51

Vi ■ . 1 iK*S?SVi.

Clubbers — over a million strong — those common, every¬
day Americans who go on and on with the program, who
have made him what he is today — whatever that is?

“They came — they saw — ”

THE WHIRLPOOL

He was caught in the whirl of the pool of dismay.

By a thoughtless remark he had said;

He had injured a friend in a nonchalant way,

And the love they had cherished lay dead.

To his mirror he went, in its glass to confide,

And his face was both haggard and pale,

And he asked of the glass, “Should 1 swallow the pride,
That is pinning me down like a nail?

Should I go to my friend with remorse on my face,

A remorse that I honestly feel?

Should I beg him this whir pool of shame to erase,

In a soul-stirring voice of appeal?”

“As your heart so dictates,” said a voice from the glass,
“I advise you to follow its path,

And remember ’twill pay you to keep off the grass,
That is bordered with ill words and wrath.”

There has only been one taxi ride taken lately be¬
tween Providence, Rhode Island, and New York City?

Don: After the show will you join me in a bowl of
soup?

Pappy: Do you think there’ d be room for both of us?

A conscientious effort has been made to give proper
credit to the authors of the poems contained in this book.
We wish to thank the many authors who gave us their
kind permission to reprint their poems. If we have
failed to list the authorship of any of these poems we beg
forgiveness of the author, and would like to rectify the
error in subsequent editions.

So he went to his friend, and he asked most sincere,

To he taken again to his heart

And the whirlpool of friendship once more does endear
These friends who had drifted apart.

If there’s someone you know, whom you treated that way,
And your heart is both heavy and blue,

Seek and find him again without further delay,

Don’t wait until he comes to you.

You’ll find that the whirlpool of Love will replace,

Every misunderstanding and strife.

It will give you the courage to meet face to face.

The changeable Whirlpool of Life.

— Norman St. Croix, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

Page 52

■iwVSlC

WHAT THE GROOM WORE

John Jones, son of Mr. and Mrs. Sam Jones, of Pleasant
Villa, became the bridegroom of Miss Elizabeth Smith at
high noon today. The ceremony took place at the home
of the groom’s parents. Mr. Jones was attended by Mr.
Brown as groomsman. The groom was the cynosure of
all eyes. Blushing prettily he replied to the questions of
the clergyman in low tones, but firm. He was charming¬
ly clad in a three-piece suit, consisting of coat, vest and
trousers. The coat of dark material was draped about
his shoulders and tastefully gathered under the arms.
The pretty story was current among the wedding guests
that the coat was the same worn by his father and grand¬
father on their wedding days. The vest was sleeveless
and met in front. It was gracefully fashioned with
pockets and the back held together with a strap and
buckle. Conspicuous on the front of the vest was the,
groom’s favorite piece of jewelry, a fraternity pin, and
from the upper left hand corner of his vest hung a long
watch chain, the bride’s gift to the groom, which flashed
brilliantly and gave the needed touch to a costume in
perfect taste and harmony.

The groom’s coat was of dark worsted and fell from
the waist in a straight line almost to the floor. The
severe simplicity of the garment was relieved by the
right pantalette, which was caught up about four inches
by a garter worn underneath, revealing just the artistic
glimpse of brown socks above the genuine leather shoes,
laced with strings of the same color. The effect was chic.

Beneath the vest the groom wore blue galluses,
attached fore and aft to the trousers and passing in
a graceful curve over each shoulder. This pretty and
useful part of the costume would have passed unnoticed
had not the groom muffed the ring when the groomsman

■l

passed it to him. When he stooped to recover the errant
circlet, the blue of his galluses was prettily revealed. His
neck was encircled with a collar, characterized by
a delicate pearl tint of old-fashioned celluloid, and
around the collar was a cravat, loosely knitted, exposing
a collor button of bright metal. The cravat extended up
and down under the left ear with the studied carelessness
which marks supreme artistry in dress.

Mr. Brown’s costume was essentially like the groom’s
and as the two stood at the altar a hush of admiration
enveloped the audience at the complete harmony.
Actually, one could hardly have told one from the other,
had it not been for a patch of court plaster worn by the
groom over the nick in his chin made by a safety razor.
Neither Mr. Jones nor Mr. Brown wore a hat at the cere¬
mony. As Miss Elizabeth Smith led the groom from the
altar, it was noted that she wore the conventional veil
and orange blossoms.

THE END OF THE ROPE

When you’ve lost every vestige of hope
And you think you are beaten and done,

When you’ve come to the end of your rope,

Tie a knot in the end and hang on.

Have courage; for here is the dope:

When you stand with your back to the wall,
Though you’ve come to the end of your rope
Tie a knot in the end and hang on.

Don’t admit that life’s getting your goat
When your friends seem to all disappear,

When you’ve come to the end of your rope,

Tie a knot in the end and hang on.

— Margaret Nickerson Martin, Jackson, Mich.

Page 53

••wcfh\

585V -

THE NURSE

The world grows better every year
Because some nurse in her little sphere
Puts on her apron and smiles and sings
And keeps on doing the same old things;

Taking the temperature, giving the pills
To remedy mankind’s numerous ills;

Feeding the baby, answering the bells.

Being polite with a heart that rebels.

Longing for home and all the while
Wearing the same professional smile;

Blessing the new-born baby’s first breath
Closing the eyes that are stilled in death;

Going off duty at seven o’clock
Tired, discouraged, and ready to drop.

But called back on special at seven-fifteen
With woe in her heart that must not be seen;
Morning and evening, and noon and night,

Just doing it over and hoping it’s right.

When we lay down our caps, and cross the bar
0 Lord, will You give us just one little star
To wear in our crowns, with our uniforms new
In that city above where the Head Nurse is You?

(Author Unknown)

DAY BY DAY

The great Italian sculptor and painter, Michaelangelo,
was essentially a sculptor and painted only under protest.
He was also a poet and expressed this idea in a sonnet in
which he said that in every block of marble he saw an
imprisoned idea awaiting the sculptor’s art to be freed.
When Michaelangelo wrote that he probably meant just
what the mere words imply and no more. Undoubtedly
he was thinking of art and not a general philosophy.

2tl -

Page 54

^A);cy.

But think of those words — you and I are sculptors in
a sense, aren’t we? Not great artists like Michaelangelo —
no — but our fate is in our hands — our life is what we
make it. We are the moulders of our destiny. In every
block of marble he saw an imprisoned idea awaiting the
sculptor’s art to be freed. Every day is like that — an¬
other page in our book of life. We can leave it blank, or
we can fill it with something worthwhile. As long as we
are creatures of free will and as long as the book of our
lives, after all, means more to us than anyone else, why
not consider each day as a milestone, a slab of marble,
and let’s do something worthwhile with it. Each day
can he a beautiful tiling, if we make it so.

■ — Don McNeill

THE TOWN OF DON’T YOU WORRY

There’s a town called Don’t you worry
On the banks of River Smile,

Where the Cheer-up and Be-happy
Blossom sweetly all the while;

Where the Never-grumble flower
Blooms beside the fragrant Try,

And the Ne’er-give-up and Patience
Point their faces to the sky.

Rustic benches quite enticing
You’ll find scattered here and there;

And to each a vine is clinging
Called the Frequent-earnest prayer.

Everybody there is happy
And is singing all the while.

In the town of Don’t you worry
On the banks of River Smile.

(Author Unknown)

£fSV"

TELL HIM NOW

If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing,

If you like him or you love him, tell him now;

Don’t withhold your approbation ’til the person makes
oration

As he lies with snowy lilies o’er his brow;

For no matter how you shout it, he won’t really care
about it;

He won’t know how many tear drops you have shed;

If you think some praise is due him, now’s the time to
slip it to him,

For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead!

If she wants chocolates — Feeder

If she sings inharmoniously — Tuner

If she is out of town — Telegrapher

If she is a poor cook — Discharger

If she is too fat — Reducer

If she is wrong — Rectifier

If she gossips too much — Regulator

If she becomes upset — Reverser

If she wants a new dress — Juss watt her.

(Anonymous)

CYCLE OF A JOKE

More than fame and more than money is the comment
kind and sunny,

And the hearty warm approval of a friend;

For it gives to life a savor, and it makes you stronger,
braver,

And it gives you heart and spirit to the end;

If he earns your praise, bestow it; if you like him, let him
know it;

Let the words of true encouragement be said;

Do not wait till life is over and he’s underneath the clover,

For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead!

Birth: A freshman thinks it up and laughs aloud, waking
up two fraternity men in back row.

Age — Five minutes: Freshman tells it to a senior, who
answers: “It’s funny, but I’ve heard it before.”

Age — One day: Senior turns it in to college magazine
as his own.

Age — Two days: Editor thinks it’s terrible.

Age — Ten days: Editor has to fill magazine so joke is
printed.

(Anonymous)

Age — One month : Thirteen college comics reprint it.
Age — Three years : Magazine reprints the joke in “Light¬
er Vein.”

HANDLING WOMEN ELECTRICALLY

If she talks too long — Interrupter
If she wants to be an angel — Transformer
If she is picking your pockets — Detector
If she will receive you half way — Receiver
If she gets too excited — Controller
If she goes up in the air — Condenser

Age — Ten years: Seventy-six radio comedians discover
it simultaneously, tell it accompanied by howls of
mirth from the boys in the orchestra. ($5 a howl.)

Age — One hundred years: Professor starts telling it in
class.

Age — One hundred one years: It’s reprinted again, then
used on the Breakfast Club.

Page 55

LITTLE COUNTRY TOWN

I love a little country town;

I love its flowers and trees;

1 love its quiet peacefulness;

Its birds; its humming bees.

1 love its kindly womenfolk;

I love its girls and boys;

Its sturdy men, who understand
My sorrows and my joys.

I love its blue sky overhead;

Its air that’s clean and sweet.

I love the laughter and the tramp
Of small town children’s feet.

In little country towns I find
The will to do and dare:

I love a little country town
Because I found God there!

— Joyce Allen, Binghamton, N. Y.

A BETTER WORLD

Wouldn’t this old world he better,

If the folks we meet would say,

“I know something good about you,”

And then treat us just that way?
Wouldn’t it he fine and dandy,

If each handclasp was warm and true,
Carried with it this assurance,

“I know something good about you?”
Wouldn’t life he lots more happy
If the good that’s in us all
Were the only thing about us,

That folks bothered to recall?

ivf’Stevwi.

- -

Wouldn’t life be lots more happy
If we praised the good we see?

For there’s such a lot of goodness s

In the worst of you and me.

Wouldn’t it be nice to practice
That fine way of thinking, too?

You know something good about me, ;

And I know something good about you.

( Author Unknown)

PRAYER

Give me a good digestion, Lord,
and also something to digest.

Give me a healthy body, Lord,

with sense to keep it at its best.

Give me a healthy mind, Lord,

to keep the good and pure in sight.

Which, seeing sin, is not appalled,
but finds a way to set it right.

Give me a mind that is not bored,

that does not whimper, whine or sigh,

Don’t let me worry overmuch
about a fussy thing called I.

Give me a sense of humor, Lord,
give me the grace to see a joke.

To get some happiness from life
and pass it on to other folk.

(This poem was left by an unknown worshipper
in Chester Cathedral, England)

WHERE?

A FUNNY THING

“Tell me, gray-haired sexton,” I said,

“Where in this field are wicked folks laid?

I have wandered the quiet old churchyard through,
And studied the epitaphs, old and new:

But on monument, obelisk, pillar or stone
1 read of no evil that men have done.”

The old sexton stood by a grave newly made,

With a hand on his chin, and a hand on his spade;

I knew by the gleam of his eloquent eye
His heart was instructing his lips to reply.

“Who is to judge when the soul takes its flight?

Who is to judge ’twixt the wrong and the right?
Which of us mortals shall dare to say.

That our neighbor was wicked who died today?

“In our journey through life, the farther we speed
The better we learn that humanity’s need
Is Charity’s spirit, that prompts us to find
Rather virtue than vice in the lives of our kind.

“Therefore, good deeds we record on these stones:
The evil men do, let it lie with their bones.

I have labored as sexton this many a year,

But I never have buried a bad man here.”

(Anonymous)

Nancy : Why laugh at hats the women wear — al¬

though they may amuse. — I think by far much funnier
are the husbands women choose.

Jack’s laugh is so contagious it has been suggested he
be given a laugh-time contract.

It is a funny thing, but true,

That folks you don’t like, don’t like you;

I don’t know why this should he so,

But just the same I always know
If I am “sour,” friends are few;

If I am friendly, folks are, too.

Sometimes I get up in the morn
A-wishin’ I was never horn;

I make of cross remarks a few,

And then my family wishes, too,

That I had gone some other place
Instead of showing them my face.

But let me change my little “tune,”

And sing and smile, then pretty soon
The folks around me sing and smile;

I guess ’twas catching all the while.

Yes, ’tis a funny thing, but true,

The folks you like will sure like you.

(Anonymous)

TYPICAL BREAKFAST CLUB PLAY
Scene — .4 Davenport somewhere in Iowa

lie: Gee.

She: Golly.

He: Oh, honey.

She: Yes, sweet.

He: Will you love me when l grow fat ?

She: No.

He: You won't?

She: No, I promised for better or worse. Not through
thick and thin.

Page 57

How to Be a Master of Ceremonies

By DON McNEILL

Master of Ceremonies is a kind name often given to
irresponsible persons who adapt this career on stage,
screen or radio in preference to working.

Synonyms : Slap-happy, Clambake boss, Member So¬
ciety for Perpetuation of Ancient Jokes, Unclassified
Member of AFRA. Example: Radio program may have
girl singer following musical selection by orchestra.
Master of Ceremonies is a person who might say, “And
now Rosy Cheek will sing Rlue Orchids dedicated to Papa
Dionne who would probably faint if he had some or¬
chids.’’ (some more-kids.) Remedy: Teaspoon of mus¬
tard and sodium bicarbonate in water, or twist of dial.

A Master of Ceremonies, like an empty bottle, is
usually found just outside of a radio executive’s office.
Note: An empty bottle may be difficult to distinguish
from an executive. (Roth have their necks out.) Any
male citizen who has not stayed in the fourth grade over
three years is eligible to become a Master of Ceremonies.
To prepare yourself to be an M.C. it is well to go to
college and study law and journalism as I did, because
I found no jobs to be had in either of these professions,
and drifting into radio seemed much cuter than starving.

There are very few jobs to be had in radio, but I found
that being an announcer, writing a radio column, doing
a radio engineering stint on the side, keeping the boss in
dates, and sweeping out the studio, I was easily able to
earn $13.40 a week in no time. Inside of two years
I had worked myself up to $15 a week, was handling my
own programs, paying for a car, and the boss was getting
his own dates.

Soon I was working on another radio station. I de¬
cided to make the change . . . immediately after being

Page 58

<r*j

fired. I got a com¬
mercial. Gad! it
was great to see
that $5 extra roll¬
ing in every week,
with only ten per
cent removed for
artist’s service.

Soon I was
working on an¬
other radio station.

Same reason.

This went on for
several years, and
finally NBC, evi¬
dently feeling that
I had covered the
network thorough¬
ly, hired me to handle Breakfast Club. I said to my¬
self, “Now I am a Master of Ceremonies.” And there is
the secret — out at last. Having convinced myself, my
first day on the network at least twenty listeners no doubt
concurred in the same opinion. I have many relatives.
Next day more listeners were fooled. Soon the impres¬
sion spread. The propaganda was taking hold.

My name, like yesterday’s dishes, became a household
word. Sponsors heard of me. For years they heard of me.
Finally the word got around in agencies. “This fellow
McNeill is good. I wonder how much it would cost to
get Ameche?”

Meanwhile Crosby continued on the air, war was de¬
clared, your rheumatism got worse, and I finally got
a sponsor.

It’s a small world, isn’t it!

The Marines tell it to Don

- :w<^SVn?i -

How to be a, Radio Singer — in 10,000 Easy Lessons

By JACK BAKER

First of all, I suggest the best thing is to be born. In
all my experience, I have never heard of anyone doing
anything without this. This is just one of my original
ideas that may not be worth the space I have already
taken in this book. If I remember corfectly, even though
I have no definite proof, I was born, even though Squire
McNeill has often said that I was “launched.”

The next thing is to load all your pockets with rabbit
feet, and then sprinkle salt on your — ah ah — seat of your
pants! In other words, you must have a certain amount
of luck. Of course, ability, good health, talent and a few
other things MAY enter into the picture, but how would
I be expected to know about THAT! I still say that
I spent most of my younger (?) life being watched over
by a guardian angel. For that, I am very grateful, be¬
cause if ever a fellow had the happy faculty of being at
the right place just when there was no one else available,
I am the guy.

EXPERIENCE! In my case, it meant singing at every
free affair that popped up. In those days, I was all set
to “start a flame in the hearts” of the millions of people
who could hardly wait to hear me pour forth my beauti¬
ful voice. Well, other people had other ideas, so, for
about three years, I was LUCKY enough to have SUS¬
TAINING SHOWS on some small stations — WITHOUT
PAY. I sang at all the tea parties that the dear ladies
threw in the afternoons. The greatest experience I ever
had was being able to sing in church choirs. I really
mean that, for it is there you must learn poise, feeling,
and a nearness to God that means so much if you are to
sing from your heart rather than your — shall we say —
throat? In addition to this, always remember WORK —
GOOD CLEAN LIVING AND A BELIEF THAT YOU
CAN SUCCEED. Those things mean a lot.

Now, and this is something dear to my heart! Learn
to be a POET, even if you have to attend night school.
When you are stuck for something to say, you can always
come up with a bit of sparkling poetry, and in so doing
fill that extra three minutes that are to be killed. Here
is a sample of what you MIGHT write. It will take only
a few seconds and the pain will leave just as soon as you
have read it:

Sometimes when it’s raining, as it sometimes doos,

Or sometimes when it’s snowing, as it sometimes doos, too

Don’t stick your neck out and get it wet

Leave that for Saturday night

And then for Sunday, yon will be all set.

Well, I can see that I have told you practically noth¬
ing, but neither you or Don expected me to do any better
. . . so, fo’give me, will you fo’give me???

Jack bringing home the bacon

■i

Page

58SV - -

THE BACHELOR S PRAYER

SV"

Dear Lord, please hear a lonely bachelor’s prayer
And send me someone sweet and good and true;
Someone to be a comrade, one to care,

And lend sweet purpose to the tasks 1 do.

For I would share with her my very all,

Not only wealth, but every dream and aim;

Together we would face life’s duty call,

Our pathway lighted by love’s tender flame.

But now I walk alone, and gloss with pride
The loneliness and yearning none can see;
Somewhere SHE needs me, wants me by her side —
Please find her, Lord, and send her here to me.

But, Lord, please put this down upon Your book:

Be SURE the one You send knows how' to COOK!

— Elizabeth Schumann

MA’S TOOLS

At home it seems to he the rule,

Pa never has the “proper tool,”

Or knack to fix things. For the stunt
That stumps Ma, you’ll have to hunt.

We scarce could open our front door,
It stuck so tight. An’ Pa he swore
He’d buy a plane — as big as life —

Ma fixed it with a carving knife.

One day our old clock wouldn’t start,
Pa said he’d take it all apart
Sometime and fix the old machine.
Ma just soused the works in gasoline.

Page 60

■^?4

The bathtub drain got all stopped up.

Pa bailed the tub out with a cup.

He had a dreadful helpless look.

Ma cleaned it with a crochet hook.

So when my things get out of fix,

Do I ask Pa to fix them? Nix!

For Ma just grabs what’s near at hand
And puts things right to beat the band.

(Anonymous)

THE WIDOW S MITE

She was a widow, proud and tall;

He was a lawyer, slight and small.

And people christened him with delight,

For his devotion, “The Widow’s Mite.”

He loved the widow with passionate fire,

To win her was his one desire,

But how to ask her to be his bride,

Or what to say, he could not decide.

One day he had a brilliant thought.

Straightway the widow fair he sought.

“In the Bible story it is told,

How a poor widow, lacking gold,

Yet, for charity, gave her all,

Although the offering was poor and small.

Putting my trust in your mercy and grace,

I ask you, won’t you reverse the case?

Will you not fill my life with light?

Don’t give, but take ‘The Widow’s Mite,’ ”

The widow looked dow n, with a smile and a sigh,
“Cut out the ‘s’ ” w as her sole reply.

For a moment her meaning from him was hid.
Then he cried, “The widow might!” — and she did.

(Anonymous)

HORSE AND BUGGY DAYS

'iw^STsvwi'

shirts and neckties to keep him in condition. Only on
rare occasion is he laid up for major repairs.

It is true than an old father, after years of service, is
subject to rattles, knocks, squeaks, and bumps, and his
finish loses its shine; but even at that time he may be
good for many more miles. So, considering all these
factors, once a year, it seems only a graceful gesture to
forget his faults and reward him with a pat on the hack
or a lump of sugar.

Christopher Billopp
in The Baltimore Evening Sun

GRANDMA IS GONE

She looked so sweet amongst her furs,

I longed to press her to my heart —

But with one hand to rightly drive —

Alas, I did not have the art.

I tried and tried, and tried again.

But when my arm stole ’round her waist
That skittish colt would jump aside
And make me draw it back in haste.

I strove and strove and strove in vain —

(She did not seem to see me strive)

Until at last, she, pouting, said
“Give me the reins and I will drive.”

(Author Unknown)

FATHERS

Fathers are useful adjuncts to the household. Some
of them are ornamental, but the majority are built along
simple lines, looking to efficient and dependable service.
Given reasonable care, a sound father may he expected
to last over a long period of years and, in many cases,
the same father may serve for a lifetime.

Those who have had experience with one, know that
a father is a labor-saver. In the long run — and the short
one, too, for that matter — he may be said to pay for him¬
self, as well as for the other members of the family. “Let
Father work for you” is the slogan of many a household.
He prevents tired hacks, nervous strain, rough hands,
crows-feet, and other evidences of vanishing youth.

An important factor in a good father is the low cost
of upkeep. He needs no more than a couple of suits of
clothes a year, an overcoat every five years, and a few

Yes, grandma is gone now, hut as I looked upon the
peaceful face of one of my ancestors gone to her eternal
rest, at the wrinkles on that kindly old face — an indelible
memory of a wonderful life — I thought that though she’s
gone, as we all must when our time comes, how calmly
she had weathered the storms of the past eighty-seven
years. Wars — many of them — had come and gone, and
yet she had lived her own sweet way — caring only for
family, religion, home, friends, and the things of nature.
Before she passed away they said one time her fingers
moved toward each other — back and forth — and she
breathed the words “There, the peas are shelled now.”
Lying there, she was living again her years of housework,
for she came of pioneer stock. And as I knelt, looking
for the last time into that peaceful face, I thought “These
are terrible times — wars rage, civilization is threatened —
and yet looking at one who resolutely lived the ideals
men are willing to die for — how can one give up hope —
in this worldly life — and the life to come.”

- — Don McNeill

Page 61

Page 62

Sweet Dreams, Bobby

TO A CHILD THAT ENQUIRES

How did you come to me, my sweet?

From the land that no one knows
Did Mr. Stork bring you here on his wings?

Or were you born in the heart of a rose?

Did an angel fly with you down from the sky?

Were you found in a gooseberry patch?

Did a fairy bring you from fairyland
To my door that was left on the latch?

No, my darling was born of a wonderful love,

A love that was Daddy’s and mine,

A love that was human, but deep and profound,

A love that was almost divine.

Do you remember, sweetheart, when we went to the Zoo
And we saw the big bear with the grouch.

And the tigers and lions and that tall kangaroo,

That carried her babes in a pouch?

I)o you remember I told you she kept them there safe
From the cold and the wind ’till they grew
Big enough to take care of themselves?

And, dear heart, that’s just how I first cared for you.

I carried you under my heart, my sweet,

And I sheltered you safe from alarms,

’Till one wonderful day, the dear God looked down
And my darling lay safe in my arms.

- — Olya Petrova

Husbands must just love to hear Breakfast Club yays
repeated to them at dinner by their wives.

SfgV' -

MOTHER

! God gives us the glorious sun each day, a symbol of faitli
i unbroken,

The song of a robin, and tulips gay, of Spring the first
| bright token.

He sends us the shower of April rain, bright tears that
; last hut a minute,

; To wash away a harsh word’s pain and the sting that is
hidden in it.

Then into this wondrous plan, He wove, with infinite
vision rare,

The gift of a mother’s gracious love, and a mother’s
tender care;

; He gave her a charge to ever keep, the soul of a little

child;

She cradled it close to her heart in sleep, and God looked
down and smiled.

— Elizabeth Cameron MacNeal, Allentown, Pa.

'"TWAS I WHO CHOSE YOUR MOTHER
FOR YOU"

The times have proved my judgment bad,

I’ve followed foolish hopes in vain,

And as you look upon your dad
You see him commonplace and plain.

No brilliant wisdom I enjoy;

The jests I tell have grown to bore you,

But just remember this, my boy:

’Twas I who chose your mother for you !

Your life from babyhood to now
Has known the sweetness of her care;

Her tender hand has smoothed your brow;

Her love gone with you everywhere.

Through every day and every night
You’ve had an angel to adore you!

So bear in mind I once was right;

’Twas I who chose your mother for you!

(Author Unknown)

ODE TO ROBERT PATRICK'S FIRST TOOTH

A baby learns breathing, hut not so with teething,

There’s yelling and din, till that first tooth comes in;

We knew it would come, some day to his gum,

But one goes temperamental, when habies go dental.

In go both tiny fists, clear up to the wrist

While in time they grow bolder, and snap at the shoulder.

You give up in despair, cause you can’t figure where
In the gum is abiding, that tooth he’s been hiding.

Till one sunny day, you look in and, why say
Something tiny and white, has appeared in the night.

Where there once was a hole — thar, there now is a molar
Not like your tooth or my tooth— it isn’t an eye tooth.

Though the gum still is thick, you can now hear the click
Of his crescent pearl moon, to the touch of a spoon.

hike a ringside frequenter, there it sits front row center
Go on yell, go on cheer, boy that first tooth is here.

* * *

That’s
tooth !

the tooth, the whole tooth and nothing hut the

— Don McNeill

Page 63

^1'

iiwvsiSvvi

HAMMY DRAMMY

TOO — Kin ya define it?

This epic of the hills was smuggled into this book by
the Romeos; hidden away on this page by the Romeos;
written, directed and produced at no great expense by
the Romeos, whom you can get very cheap (and they’re
worth every bit of it). Today’s episode is entitled, “Put
down that football, Grandma, you’re liable to get hit in
the end-zone.’’ Let us wend our way to that small shack,
far back in the hills, where we will meet the members of
the “Pay Family.” The father, who is baldheaded . . .
“Too-Pay;” the one who reminds us of Jack Raker,
“Dope-Pay;” and the brother who was named after Don
McNeill’s feet, “Rig ’n flop-pay.” The family enjoys the
distinction of having named in their honor the most
popular of all holidays . . . “Pay-Day.”

(curtain . . . music)

TOO — Whut in tarnation air ya doin’ Paw?

DOPE — Ah’rn a writin . . . that’s somethin ya do before
yer married that yer sorry fer afterwards. Old Don
McNeill said to write a Hammy Drammy for this
here album.

RIG ’N FLOP— Whuts a album?

DOPE — Album is a word which comes from two Latin
words. A1 and Rum. A1 means all, like all the peo¬
ple who wuz ever on the Rreakfast Club. And Rum
means just what you think it does.

TOO — Well, let’s write ’er. Does anybody know how ta
spell straight?

RIG ’N FLOP — s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t . . . straight.

BIG ’N FLOP — Sure ... it means without gingerale.

* * *

(NOTE TO READER) Due to circumstances and
McNeill's schillealagh, (both of which are beyond our
control) the Hammy Drammy will end right here!

THE FAMILY DOCTOR

When hut a lad a dream he made
Of helping folk and giving aid,

Without the thought of being paid.

One day he saw a loved one die,

But still he chose, he scarce knew why,

To heed humanity’s loud cry.

lie looked on tortured soul and mind,

And saw disease of every kind,

A day of rest he could not find.

No hour of day or night was free,

He pledged his law of life would be
“Above all else, humanity.”

“Lord, when he gets Your call some day,

And answers, ‘Coming right away.’

Please give him months of rest and play,

Don’t show him broken bones and slings.

But give him lots of pleasant things
Before he mends the angels’ wings.”

— Catharine Williams

Marion :
alive!”

When l was born the doctor said “Mann

Page 64

■ivVSfeVvii

WHEN PA IS SICK

When Pa is sick, he’s scared to death,

An’ Ma an’ us just holds our breath;

He crawls in bed, an’ puffs an’ grunts,
An’ does all kinds of crazy stunts.

He wants “Doc Brown” in mighty quick,
For when Pa’s ill he’s awful sick;

He gasps an’ moans, an’ sort of sighs,

He talks so queer an’ rolls his eyes;

Ma jumps and runs an’ all of us,

An’ all the house is in a fuss,

An’ peace and joy is mighty skeerce —
When Pa is sick it’s somethin’ fierce!

WHEN MA IS SICK

When Ma is sick, she pegs away,

She’s quiet, though, not much to say;

She goes right on a-doin’ things,

An’ sometimes laughs, or even sings;

She says she don’t feel so extra well,

But then it’s just a kind o’ spell,

She’ll be all right tomorrow sure,

A good old sleep will be the cure;

An’ Pa, he sniffs an’ makes no kick.

For women folks is always sick;

An’ Ma, she smiles, let’s on she’s glad —

When Ma is sick, it ain’t so bad.

( Author Unknown)

Can you identify these names with Breakfast Club.
Sabu, Bierman, Kemp, Tommy e Birch, Byron Nelson,
Corn, Lillian Cornell, Larry Cotton, Irene Rich?

THE MOO COW MOO

My Pa held me up to the moo cow moo
So close I could almost touch,

And I stroked him a couple times or two ‘

And I wasn’t a fraid cat, much.

But if my Papa goes into the house,

And my Mama she goes in too, ;

Then I sit as still as a little mouse !

For the moo cow moo might moo! 1

The moo cow moo has a tail like a rope
And it’s frazzled down where it grows
And it’s just like feeling a piece of soap
All over the end of his nose.

The moo cow moo has lots of fun
Just swinging his tail about,

But if he opens his mouth I run —

’Cause that’s where the moo comes out.

The moo cow moo has ears on his head,

And his eyes bug out of their place, ;

And the nose of the moo cow moo is spread
All over the end of his face.

And his feet are nothing but fingernails
And his Mama don’t keep them cut
And he gives his milk in water pails
If he don’t keep his handles shut.

Now if you or I pulls them handles
The moo cow moo says it hurts,

But our hired man just sits close by

And squirts, and squirts, and squirts. !

(A School Child) j

Page 65

'iwVSSVwi'

CONSCIENCE

TREES

Who has not heard, when temptation grows,

That inner voice of hidden echoes?

Who has not felt that unseen power
Which guides our destiny from hour to hour?

Who has not known when lured by sin
That restraining voice — the voice within?

For within the soul of every man
There lives a force, a guiding hand
That points the way from wrong to right;

Our inner fort of moral might.

Have you solved the riddle? It is not hard.

Some call it Conscience,

I call it God !

— Dr. Champneys Holmes, Atlanta, Ga.

Courage is fear that has said its prayers.

I think that 1 shall never see
A hazard rougher than a tree,

A tree, o’er which my ball must fly,

If on the green it is to lie.

A tree which stands that green to guard,

And makes the shot extremely hard;

A tree whose leafy arms extend,

To kill the mashie shot I send;

A tree that stands in silence there,

While angry golfers rave and swear,

Niblicks were made for fools like me
Who cannot ever miss a tree.

(Author Unknown)

When they play swing music it’s Walter Bluepuss and
his Indigo Cats.

Page 66

“Order, Please’’

The Swedehearts

Don-Kay

THE TRUTH ABOUT WOMEN

She’s an angel in truth, a demon in fiction,

A woman’s the greatest of all contradictions.

She’s afraid of a cockroach, she’ll scream at a mouse,
But she’ll tackle a husband as big as a house.

She’ll take him for better, she’ll take him for worse,
She’ll split his head open and then be his nurse.

And when he is well and gets out of bed,

She’ll pick up a tea-pot and throw at his head.

She’s faithful, deceitful, keen-sighted and blind,

She’s crafty, she’s simple, she’s cruel, she’s kind.
She’ll lift a man up, she’ll cast a man down,

She’ll make him her ideal, she’ll make him her clown.

You fancy she’s this and you find that she’s that,

For she’ll play like a kitten and bite like a cat.

In the morning she will, in the evening she won’t,
You’re always expecting she does, hut she don’t.

THE TRUTH ABOUT MEN

Men are what women marry. They have two feet,
two hands and sometimes two wives, but never more than
one dollar or one idea at a time.

Like Turkish cigarettes, men are all made of the same
material. The only difference is that some are a little
better disguised than others.

Generally speaking, they may be divided into two
classes; husbands and bachelors. An eligible bachelor is
a mass of obstinacy entirely surrounded by suspicion.
Husbands are three varieties, prizes, surprises, and con¬
solation prize.

Making a husband out of a man is one of the highest

plastic arts known to civilization. It requires science,
sculpture, common sense, hope, faith, and charity — espe¬
cially charity.

It is a psychological marvel that a soft, fluffy, tender,
violet-scented thing like a woman should enjoy kissing
a big, awkward, stubby-chinned, tobacco and bay-rum
scented thing like a man.

If you flatter a man, it frightens him to death, and if
you don’t flatter him, you bore him to death. If you
permit him to make love to you, he gets tired of you in
the end, and if you don’t, he gets tired of you in the be¬
ginning.

If you believe him in everything, you soon cease to
interest him, and if you argue with him in everything,
you soon cease to charm him. If you believe all he tells
you, he thinks you are a fool, and if you don’t, he thinks
you are a cynic.

If you wear gay colors, rouge and a startling hat, he
hesitates to take you out. If you wear a little brown
beret and a tailored suit, he takes you out and stares at
the woman in gay colors, rouge and a startling hat all
evening.

If you join him in the gaities of life and approve of
his smoking and drinking, he swears that you are driv¬
ing him to the devil. If you don’t, he vows you are snob¬
bish anti too nice.

If you are the clinging vine type, he doubts whether
you have any brains, and if you are modern, advanced,
independent woman, he doubts whether you have a heart.
If you are silly, he longs for a bright person, and if you
are brilliant and intellectual, he longs for a playmate.

A man is just a worm of the dust, he comes along,
wiggles about for while, and finally some chicken gets
him.

Watch out, Big Boy!

Page 67

BILL'S IN TROUBLE

I’ve got a letter, parson, from my son away out West,

An’ my ol’ heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast,

To think the boy whose futur’ I had once so proudly
planned,

Should wander from the path o’ right an’ come to sich
an end!

I told him when he left us only three short years ago,

He’d find himself a-plowin’ in a mighty crooked row —
He’d miss his father’s counsel, an’ his mother’s prayers,
too,

But he said the farm was hateful, an’ he guessed he’d
have to go.

I know that’s big temptation for a youngster in the West,
But I believed our Billy had the courage to resist,

An’ when he left I warned him o’ the ever-waitin’ snares
That lie like hidden serpents in life’s pathway every-
wheres,

But Bill he promised faithful to be keerful, an’ allowed
He’d build a reputation that’d make us mighty proud,
But it seems as how my counsel sort o’ faded from his
mind,

An’ now the boy’s in trouble o’ the very wustest kind!
His letters came so seldom that I somehow sort o’ knowed
That Billy was a-trampin’ on a mighty rocky road,

But never once imagined he’d bow my head in shame,

An’ in the dust’d waller his ol’ daddy’s honored name,

He writes from out in Denver, an’ the story’s mighty
short;

I just can’t tell his mother; it’ll crush her poor ol’ heart!
An’ so I reckoned, parson, you might break the news to
her —

Bill’s in the Legislatur’ but he doesn’t say what fur.

( Author Unknown)

Page 68

WHAT IS OLD AGE?

What is Old Age? I want to know . . .

Is it a trembling of the hands,

Or speech uncertain . . . slow?

Is it a faltering of the step,

A dimming of the eyes,

That creeps upon us unawares
’Ere we scarce realize?

What is Old Age? I think I know . . .

It is the aching tenderness
That work-worn hand bestows;

That sage advice that comes with years;

A step that shows the Way;

And eyes that view with tolerance
Yet long for yesterday.

Old Age is but the softening
Of life’s bright morning sun;

That fades into the grey of dusk !

When day is done.

Old Age is but the twilight hour
Of all the hours gone by;

That calmly watches while the night
Steals o’er the sky.

Old Age is but an interlude . . .

That trembling, stops to yawn;

Then bravely steps into the dark,

To meet the Dawn . . .

- — Hazel Granger Madill, Hermosa, S. D.

■iwvsrsv^i-

HARD-EARNED WAGES

An artist who was employed to renovate and retouch
the great oil paintings in an old church in Belgium,
rendered a bill of $67.30 for his services. The church
warden, however, recjuired an itemized bill and the
following was duly presented, audited and paid:

For correcting the Ten Commandments . $ 5.12

For renewing heaven and adjusting stars . 7.14

For touching up purgatory and restoring lost souls 3.06
For brightening up the flames of hell, putting new
tail on the devil and doing odd jobs for the

damned . 7.17

For putting new stone in David’s sling, enlarging

head of Goliath . 6.13

For mending shirt of prodigal son and cleaning his

ears . 3.39

For embellishing Pontius Pilate and putting new

ribbon on his bonnet . 3.02

For putting new tail and comb on St. Peter’s rooster 2.20

For re-pluming and re-gilding left wing of the

Guardian Angel . 5.18

For washing the servant of high priest and putting

carmine on his cheek . 5.02

For taking the spots off the son of Tobias . 10.30

For putting earrings in Sarah’s ears . 5.26

For decorating Noah’s ark and new head on Shem 4.31

Total $67.30
(Anonymous)

YOU'RE OUT

They were seated in the parlor
And the lights were turned down dim:

He was a Major Leaguer, she a fan quite fair and trim,
He knew not as he opened up the game of love,

That father was the Umpire, on the stairway just above.
“I like your form,” he led off first,

“With me you’ve made a hit,

Your curves are good, you have the speed
And you are looking fit.

Now if with you, my turtle dove.

I’ve made a hit likewise,

Won’t you join in and play the game,

And make a sacrifice?”

“You must show me first,” she pitched at him,

“How high you stood last fall.

Show me your fielding average,

And how hard you hit the ball.”

He started warming up at once
With victory in his eye,

He shoved a fast one ’round her neck,

The other was waist high,

Just then the Umpire butted in,

She cried, “Oh! Father, please,

There is nothing wrong for George is only
Showing me the squeeze.”

The old man gave an irate snort,

And said: “I’ll help the fun
By showing George another play
That’s called the hit-and-run.”

He swung like Casey at his best,

A soul-inspiring clout.

The son of swat, slid down the steps,

The Umpire yelled, “You’re Out.”

Page 69

'IWV*ite*VV|

A BRIDE'S PRAYER

“Oh, Father, my heart is filled with a happiness so
wonderful that I am almost afraid. This is my wedding
day, and I pray Thee that the beautiful joy of this morn¬
ing may never grow dim with years of regret for the step
which I am about to take. Rather, may its memories
become more sweet and tender with each passing anni¬
versary.

“Thou has sent to me one who seems all worth of my
deepest regard. Grant unto me the power to keep him
ever true and loving as now. May I prove indeed a help¬
mate, a sweetheart, a friend, a steadfast guiding star
among all the temptations that beset the impulsive hearts
of men. Give me skill to make the home the best loved
place of all. Help me to make its lights shine farther
than any glow that would dim its radiance. Let me,
I pray Thee, meet the little misunderstandings and cares
of my new life bravely. Be with me as I start on my
mission of womanhood and stay Thou my path from
failure. Walk Thou with us even to the end of our jour¬
ney, hand in hand down the highway to the Valley of
Final Shadow, which we will he able to lighten with sun¬
shine of good and happy lives. Amen.”

(Author Unknown)

NUTHIN' TO LEAVE BEHIND

Some people boast of wealth or fame,
Yet they had nuthin’ when they came;
Never had any more clothes than me,
Just added one to the Family-Tree.

Then 1 had nuthin’ to trade and sell,

I held my own and done right well;

My store of wealth has been my Mind,

I’ve got nuthin’ to leave behind.

Though stocks and bonds go up and down,

Or all the banks close up in town;

They can’t disturb my peaceful rest,

No burglars rouse me from my nest.

I know there’s nuthin’ I could lose
But just a pair of worn-out shoes.

When I balance up my book I’ll find
I’ve got nuthin’ to leave behind.

Now in worldly goods I must confess
A man like me can’t stand success;

For financial wealth I do not care,

I’d not feel safe a millionaire;

There’s too much income tax to pay.

That’s why I spend mine every day.

When I pass through the Golden Gate
They’ll never fuss over my Estate.

If I get three square meals per day,

That’s all I could ask for anyway;

And when I reach Glory I will share
The same service as a millionaire.

Though many days I don’t earn a dime,

Just peckin’ away and killin’ time;

From my last invoice here I’ll find,

Nuthin’ to take nor leave behind.

- — George B. Dooley, Lawrenceburg, Term.

Escort: How about sleeping in a circular bed. Then
i can’t get out on the wrong side in the morning.

i£V# MEXICO

IS.; VERMONT a,

'iw^gfeV^i —.■■—■ . .I.

YOUTH

Youth is not a time of life ... it is a state of mind.
It is not a matter of ripe cheeks, red lips and supple
knees ... it is a temper of the will, a quality of the
imagination, a vigor of the emotions ... it is a freshness
of the deep springs of life.

Youth means a temperamental predominance of cour¬
age over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over love
of ease. This often exists in a man of fifty more than
a boy of twenty.

Nobody grows old merely living a number of years;
people grow old only by deserting their ideals. Years
wrinkle the skin, hut to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the
soul. Worry, doubt, self-distrust, fear and despair . . .
these are the long, long years that how the head and turn
the growing spirit back to dust.

Whether seventy or sixteen, there is in every being’s
heart the love of wonder, the sweet amazement of the
stars and star-like things and thoughts, the undaunted
challenge of events, the unfailing child-like appetite for
what next, and the joy and game of life.

You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt;
as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as
young as your hope, as old as your despair.

In the central place of your heart there is a wireless
station; so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope,
cheer, courage, grandeur and power from the earth, from
men and from the Infinite, so long are you young.

When the wires are all down and all the central place
of your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and
the ice of cynicism, then are you grown old indeed and
may God have mercy on your soul.

(Anonymous)

Top — Purely Fishtishous; Center — Marion’s
former hobby; Below — Lee Alkire and Ernie
Swearingen give the Oscars a Swift once over.

- -

Page 71

THE LITTLE BROWN PATH

A little brown path ran from our house to yours
As little brown paths will run out-of-doors,
Wiggling its way past the pear tree and shed,
Under the clothes-line, pushing ahead,

On by the plum stump, across the drive
’Till at friendship’s door it did arrive.

Worn through the grass, tramped in the snow,
Like a knight’s lone way of long ago,

Through summer and winter, springtime and fall
That little brown path seemed to call, call, call.

Thousands of times, back and forth,

On errands, nonsensical, some of worth,

We made our visits, borrowed, returned,
Responded to sick calls, gossiped and learned,
Induced a drain to make a start,

Mended the pump or some broken part
Of the sweeper, the washer, the kitchen sink.
Cleaned an old pen and filled it with ink,
Sharpened our pencils, took the boys to school,
And ate chili soup when the nights got cool.

Much as scales balance, pan for pan,

We did what we could, what neighbors can
To make our deeds weigh well with yours,
Pleasures for pleasures, chores for chores,

And through it all ran the shuttle of cheer,
Weaving the fabric of friendship so dear.

When you were ill, those long, weary weeks,
And the pallor of death showed in your cheeks,
We did what we could, as to One above,

Our only claim to the Kingdom of Love.

But the little brown path, through sunshine and showers,
Runs no more from your house to ours.

You’re gone from that place and the path grows green,
Strangers don’t keep such a link between,

But the thread of love our feet designed
Will run through the years, in a finer kind,

Between our lives. You’ll not he gone!

Though the years be many and the years be long
A little brown path, between heart doors,

Will wind its way from our house to yours.

— Barton Bees Pogue, Upland, Indiana

BE GOOD TO YOURSELF

What simple, sincere logic there — !

Or is it perhaps a kindly prayer?

A prayer to rid one’s self of gloom.

So in each life there will be room >

For appreciation of joys which so abound
In the simple things we have around ...

A baby’s gurgling, sweet quick laugh,

A bird in a rain pool, taking a bath, !

The wind’s caress, or sun’s bright ray,

The friends we see from day to day.

Surely, “Be good to yourself” —

By keeping hate and envy on the shelf,

And by giving the world the best in you,

As has so often been proven true,

The best will then come back to you.

So the best way that you really can
“Be good to yourself” — is by

Being good to your fellowman. j

— Minnie Brehm, San Antonio, Texas

- - -

Wl-

■iwvSiSvji.

TOUCHING SHOULDERS

THE TELEPHONE GIRL

There’s a comforting thought at the close of the day
When I’m weary and lonely and sad,

That sorta grips hold of my crusty old heart
And bids it be merry and glad,

It gets in my soul and it drives out the blues,

And finally thrills through and through

It’s just a sweet memory that chants the refrain,

“I’m glad I touched shoulders with you.”

The telephone girl sits in her chair
And listens to voices from everywhere,

She hears all the gossip, she knows all the news,
She knows who is happy, and who has the blues;
She knows of our troubles, she knows of our strife,
She knows every man who talks mean to his wife;
In fact, there’s a secret ’neath each saucy curl
On that quiet, demure-looking telephone girl.

Did you know you were brave, did you know you were
strong,

Did you know there was one leaning hard,

Did you know that I listened, and waited, and prayed,

And was cheered by your simplest word?

Did you know that I longed for that smile on your face,

For the sound of your voice ringing true,

Did you know I grew stronger and better because
I had merely touched shoulders with you?

I’m glad that I live, that I battle and strive
For the place that I know I must fill,

I’m thankful for sorrows, I’ll meet with a grin
What fortune may send, good or ill,

I may not have wealth, I may not be great.

But I know I shall always he true,

For I have in my heart that courage you gave,

When once I touched shoulders with you.

(Author Unknown)

Sam Romeo got a pair of pajamas last Christmas and
still doesn’t know whether to wear them inside or outside
Ids nightshirt.

If the telephone girl told all that she knows,

It would turn half our friends to bitterest foes;

She could sow a small wind that would be a big gale,
Engulf us in trouble and land us in jail;

In fact, she could keep all the town in a stew,

If she'd tell the tenth part of the things that she knew.
Oh! Really now, doesn’t it make your head whirl
When you think what you owe to the telephone girl?

(Author Unknown)

In Queen Anne’s time, the chief of the Clan McNeill in
the Scottish highland would send his trumpeter to the
topmost tower of his castle along about nightfall to send
forth a bugle note proclaiming to the world that the
McNeill had dined and that now the rest of the world
might dine also. Don says that in his “castle” Mrs.
McNeill sends one of the youngsters to the head of the
basement stairs to tell the head of the clan that he leave
off shoveling coal in the furnace now because the rest of
the family have eaten and there’s finally room for him at
the table.

King Solomon with his thousand wives certainly was
the original Marry in’ Mann!

Page 73

TEN LITTLE MOTORISTS

TEN Little Motorists, driving in a line,

One tried to pass the rest
Then there were NINE.

NINE Little Motorists, sadly I relate,

One passed a traffic light,

Then there were EIGHT.

EIGHT Little Motorists, young and not so deft,
One tried to show his skill
And SEVEN were left.

SEVEN Little Motorists, touring in the sticks,
One failed to dim his light
Then there were SIX.

SIX Little Motorists, very much alive,

One did not see a train,

Then there were FIVE.

FIVE Little Motorists, sped to the shore.

One skidded in the rain
Then there were FOUR.

FOUR Little Motorists, coming from a tea,

One faced about to chat,

Then there were THREE.

THREE Little Motorists, this is sad but true,
One slumbered from fatigue
Then there were TWO.

TWO Little Motorists, racing just for fun,

One passed upon a crest,

Then there was ONE.

ONE Little Motorist, though it’s seldom done.
Lit a match to gauge his tank,

Now there are NONE.

(Anonymous)

ME-MYSELF

When I wake up in the morning
In a nasty frame of mind
Criticizing other people
For the little faults I find.

I can always, if I want to.

Make myself ashamed of me
Just by looking in the mirror
And appraising what I see.

There it is as clear as water
All the selfishness and greed
Written right where I can see it—

One good look is all I need.

There’s a line that tells me plainly
How I failed to see the way
1 could make another happy
And thus brighten up his day.

There’s a wrinkle standing boldly
On my forehead to proclaim
That I failed to do my good deed
And defend another’s name;

So, when I am faulting others
On myself I put the bee
Just by looking in the mirror
And appraising what I see.

— Gene Arnold

It was suggested one time that listeners could take
their morning exercise by peeking under the radiator.
A literal lady in Newark followed that advice and dis¬
covered a gold watch that had been lost for months.

S8SV

GOSSIPY EARS

NOBODY ELSE BUT YOU

■ivf**

A gossipy tongue is a dangerous thing
If its owner is evil at heart;

He can give whom he chooses full many a sting
That will woefully linger and smart.

But the gossipy tongue would be balked in its plan
For causing heart burnings and tears
If it were not helped out by the misguided man
Who possesses two gossipy ears.

Oh, the gossipy ears are the ones that believe
The evil reports they are told;

The sly, subtle tales which they gladly receive
Would tarnish the purest gold.

The cruel, “They say” which goes floating about
Like a hidden foe, fostering fears,

Would lose all its force were it firmly shut out
By the man with the gossipy ears.

When the man with the gossipy tongue happens by
With his stories of evil and strife,

We surely should look him right square in the eye
And ask him his mission in life.

We ought to refuse him a chance to retail
The false, idle rumors he “hears;”

He ought to he locked up somewhere in a jail
With the man with the gossipy ears.

(Author Unknown)

When you been workin’ a long, long time,

A-doin’ the best you can.

And you start to think about the day

When you’ll be an old, old man — -

When you’ll want to fish and hunt and golf.

Or whatever you love to do —

Nobody goin’ to save that money,

Nobody else but you!

Ain’t no use to sit and dream
About that pot of gold,

Or about the things you’d like to have
When you find you’re growin’ old.

When the speculatin’s over,

And the propaganda’s through,

You know who’s gonna be holdin’ the bag —

Nobody else but you!

So I been smokin’ and wonderin’

’Bout a lot of fancy schemes

Where I could get rich without any work — -

And I’m sure they’re all just dreams.

’Cause you’ll find out as you go along
And see things clear on through — -
Things worth while are the things that are earned
By nobody else but you!

- — William L. Miller

Don:
hotel?
Jack :

Is your uncle still mopping up floors at that
Yeah — same old floorflusher!

Cadet: Pardon me, I’m leaving for the nearest army
camp to see a cannon ball.

Page 75

W-J*" -

Benny Gill: Hear about the guy who hoarded his
sugar? She got tired of it and went out with somebody
else.

iwVSlSVv i

MRS. McNEILL'S SONG

(To the tune of “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean”)

My baby lies over the bathtub,

My baby is splashing like mad,

Then comes formulas, bottles and strained foods
And cod liver oil for the lad.

Splash, baths, bottles and formulas, too, every day, I say —
With dishes, dust pans and telephones ringing away.

My body lies over the dish pan —

Must wash dishes three times a day,

And dust floors, and mop up the kitchen,

Cause we all know, grime does not pay.

Dishes, dust pan, floor mop, wash pail each day, I say —
Dishes, dust pan, floor mop and wash pail each day.

My telephone rings all the morning
The front and back doorbells ring, too,

It makes such a lovely diversion

When you’ve nothing but housework to do.

Dishes, doorbells, telephones ringing each day, I say —
Front door, back door, I’m coming, get out of my way.

Then Don comes home tired from broadcasting
His Breakfast Club — and wipes of! his feet.

Says, “I knew you had nothing to do, dear,

So I brought home three fellows to eat.”

Why, Don’s job is simple, and if I could change places
with him, why, say —

I’d leave home and children—

Wait a minute— what am I saying — how in the world
would Don know what to do when Tommy or Donny
wanted to find something, or when the gas man came, or
what food to order, or how to clean the house, or if the
baby needed— no, sir! . . . I’m crazy about my family
and home and I’ll stay where I am and love it!

Page 76

ELMER

iw^sisv^i.

Elmer: Aaah! I’ll never forgit me foist proposal.
It was to Moitle — a buxom babe of 50 summers and only
her old lady knows how many winters. Da more I looked
at her, da more I realized dat Darwin was right. Pois-
peration stood out on me forehead. Rut I must, I must
go on. So raising me right arm, I cleared me troat — and
fainted. Dey brought me to. So I fainted again. Dey
brought me to. I fainted again. Den dey brought me
two more. It was delicious!

INSTRUCTIONS FOR BOWLERS

1. After picking out the best ball, run and stand in front
of your favorite alley, thus giving no one a chance
to bowl there.

2. Before throwing the hall, have your captain call the
attention of all the bowlers to your perfect stance.

3. If you make a strike, look around and smile.

4. If you make two strikes, calmly walk over and chalk
it up, being very careful not to smile at this time.

5. If you make three strikes in a row, nonchalantly light
a cigaret; even if you don’t smoke, light one anyhow.

6. If you throw the ball in the gutter, grab your leg
quickly and limp to the bench, growling something
about slippery shoes or bad breaks.

7. If you get a railroad, study the situation carefully,
meanwhile thinking of the good time you had on your
vacation. Then try and make it.

8. If you have a low score, tell the captain confidentially
that you did it for the purpose of getting a bigger
handicap. If you haven’t your bowling shoes or if
you haven’t your own ball, remember these are also
good excuses for low scores.

9. If a bowler on the opposing team makes a bum shot,
laugh loudly and attract everybody’s attention.

10. If your opponent makes a strike, always sneer and
talk about horseshoes and four-leaf clovers.

11. Never give the other team any credit, always talk
about how funny they throw the ball.

12. When marking score, look around and if no one is
looking, mark down a few more than you made.

13. If you miss an easy spare, laugh it off and say you
tried something new.

14. If your team lost the last game, point to the fellow who
made a couple of bum shots and yell: “You’re the
fellow who lost the game.” This will restore his con¬
fidence and he will appreciate your calling his atten¬
tion to the matter.

15. If you lose a couple of games, complain to the secre¬
tary about the lousy bowlers on your team — the guy
that makes the most complaints is automatically elect¬
ed secretary for the next year.

(Anonymous)

A favorite Breakfast Club gag concerns the embar¬
rassed and tongue-tied usher in church who said to a
lady: Mardon me, padam, do you sish to be weeted?
(Lady — Yes, I'll sit here.) But you are occupewing the
wrong pie. (Lady — What?) I’ll mave to hoove you.
(Lady — What?) Oh, just a Unit mady, I'll set gumbody
else sew you to a sheet!

WE CAN GET ’EM CP— WE CAN GET ’EM UP—
WE CAN — In private, the theme song of the Breakfast
Club is, “Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning.” Even
after ten years, it’s not one yawn easier, and the cast is as
reluctant to get out of the hay as you are. Baker says
the only completely successful method is, simply, to stay
up all night.

Page 77

SURELY EVERYONE KNOWS BY NOW
EXECUTIVES HAVE NOTHING TO DO

“As everybody knows ... an executive has practically
nothing to do . . . That is . . . except ... To decide
what is to be done ... to tell somebody to do it . . . to
listen to reasons why it should not be done by somebody
else . . . or why it should be done in a different way...
to prepare arguments in rebuttal that shall he convincing
and conclusive . . .

“To follow up to see if the thing has been done . . .
to discover that it has not been done ... to inquire why
it has not been done, to listen to excuses from the person
who should have done it . . . and did not do it . . . To
follow up a second time to see if the thing has been done
... to discover . . .

“That it has been done but incorrectly ... to point
out how it should have been done ... to conclude that
as long as it has been done ... it may as well be left as
it is ... to wonder if it is not time to get rid of a person
who cannot do a thing correctly ... to reflect that the
person in fault has a wife and seven children . . . and
that certainly . . .

“No other executive in the world would put up with
him for another moment . . . and that ... in all prob¬
ability . . . any successor would be just as bad . . . and
probably worse ... to consider how much simpler and
better the thing would have been had he done it himself
. . . in the first place ... to reflect sadly that if he had
done it himself ... he would have been able to do it
right . . .

“In twenty minutes . . . but that as things turned out
. . . he himself spent two days trying to find out why it
was that it had taken somebody else three weeks to do it
wrong . . . and then realized that such an idea would

strike at the very foundation of the belief of all employees
that . . . “An executive has nothing to do.”

THE HOMEMAKER'S PRAYER

Lord of all pots and pans and things; since I’ve no time
to be

A saint by doing lovely things, or watching late with
Thee,

Or dreaming in the dawn light, or storming heaven’s gate.

Make me a saint by getting meals, and washing up the
plates.

Altho I must have Martha’s hands, I have a Mary mind:

And when I black the boots and shoes, Thy Sandals, Lord,
1 find,

I think of how they trod the earth, what time I scrub
the floor;

Accept this meditation, Lord, I haven’t time for more.

Warm all the kitchen with Thy love, and light it with
Thy peace;

Forgive me all my worrying, and make my grumbling
cease,

Thou who didst love to give men food, in room or by
the sea,

Accept this service that I do — 1 do it unto Thee.

When Mayor Edward J. Kelly of Chicago visited the
Breakfast Club, he told this one. .4 young couple were
in Chicago just to see the show. Being from the country
they arose early and about six o’clock they took a cab.
“ We want to go to the Breakfast Club,” said the husband.

“Sorry, mister,” replied the driver, “But Kelly closes
all them joints down long before dis.”

WHAT IS GOLF?

Golf is a form of work made expensive enough for
a man to enjoy it. It is a physical and mental exertion
made attractive by the fact that you have to dress for it
in a $200,000 club house.

Golf is what letter carrying, ditch digging and carpet
beating would he if those three tasks had to be performed
on the same hot afternoon in short pants and colored
socks by gouty-looking gentlemen who require a different
implement for every mood.

Golf is the simplest looking game in the world when
you decide to take it up, and the hardest looking after
you have been at it ten or twelve years.

It is probably the only known game a man can play
as long as a quarter of a century and then discover that
it was too deep for him in the first place.

The game is played on carefully selected grass with
little white balls and as many clubs as the player can
afford. These little balls cost from seventy-five cents to
$25.00 and it is possible to support a family of ten people
‘all adults’ for five months on the money represented by
the balls lost by some golfers in a single afternoon.

A golf course has eighteen holes, seventeen of which
are unnecessary and put in to make the game harder.
A “hole” is a tin cup in the center of the “green.”
A “green” is a small parcel of grass costing about $1.98
per blade and usually located between a brook and
a couple of apple trees, or a lot of “unfinished excava¬
tion.”

The idea is to get the ball from a given point into each
of the eighteen cups in the fewest strokes and the greatest
number of words.

The ball must not be thrown, pushed or carried. It
must be propelled by about $200.00 worth of curious

looking implements especially designed to provoke the
owner.

Each implement has a specific purpose, and ultimately
some golfers get to know that purpose. They are excep¬
tions.

After each hole has been completed, the golfer counts
his strokes. Then he subtracts six and says, “Made that
in five. That’s one over par. Shall we play for fifty cents
on the next hole, Ed?”

After the final or eighteenth hole, the golfer adds up
his score and stops when he has reached eighty-seven.
He then has a swim, a pint of gin, sings “Sweet Adeline”
with six or eight other liars and calls it the end of a per¬
fect day.

( Anonymous )

HIGH FLIGHT

“Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sun-lit silence. Hovering there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delicious burning blue,

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew.

And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand — and touched the face of God.”

By John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
(Killed in Action with R.C.A.F.)

Page 79

'iwVZjfeVi:

LUCK

PRAYER FOR A MOTHER

“Do I believe in luck? I should say I do. It’s a wonder¬
ful force. I have watched the careers of too many lucky
men to doubt its efficacy.

“You see some fellow reach out and grab an oppor¬
tunity that the other fellow standing around had not
realized was there. Having grabbed it, he hangs on it
with a grip that makes the jaws of a bulldog seem like
a fairy touch. He calls into his play his breadth of vision.
He sees the possibility of the situation, has the ambition
to desire it, and the courage to tackle it.

“He intensifies his strong points, bolsters his weak
ones, cultivates those personal qualities that cause other
men to trust him and cooperate with him. He sows the
seeds of sunshine, of good cheer, of optimism, of unstint¬
ed kindness. He gives freely of what he has, both spirit¬
ual and physical things.

“He thinks a little straighter, works a little harder and
a little longer; travels on his nerve and enthusiasm; he
gives such service as his best efforts permit. He keeps
his head cool, his feet warm, his mind busy. He doesn’t
worry over trifles.

“He plans his work and then sticks to it, rain or shine.
He talks and acts like a winner, for he knows in time he
will be one. And then — LUCK does all the rest.”

(Author Unknown)

Tommy McNeill: Donny hit me because we were
playing navy and he torpedoed me in my engine room.

When Don gets to his feet he’s only half through his
bath

- 1

Page 80

Please, Lord, give her enough to do —

Stitching up a cloud or two,

Scrubbing down the Golden Stair,

Patching robes the Seraphs wear,

Keeping all the star-points sharp,

Mending haloes or a harp,

Or washing all the tell-tale traces
Of grime from off the Cherub’s faces.

Oh, give her tasks enough, Lord, please,

To keep her busy; languid ease
Would bore her in Your blessed land;

Keep her busy eye and hand

And foot and mind: Lord, You shall see

How very useful she can he,

And how contented; Lord, You know
She was a mother here below.

— Anne Mary Lawler

A couple named Anna and Abe lived in the Ozark
mountains. On the very first trip they ever made into
town they brought back a big ice cream sundae with goo
and fruit on it. The natives for miles around gathered
to look at it. Hut Anna and Abe argued about which one
would eat it. The argument grew so hot they decided to
separate for good. It was quite a sight, they say, to watch
all those natives looking at that ice cream to see Abe ’n’
Anna split!

Every time you lick a war stamp and paste it in your
book you’re helping to lick the Axis and give ’em a good
pasting.

- -

I-

SHAVING BLUES

You wake up in the mawning
And your eyes will hardly open
You’re stretching and a’yawning
As your neck you start a’soapin’.

And when your map’s been flooded
You growl and groan to see
Your face with whiskers studded
Like a eucalyptus tree.

Then you sigh and sling the lather
As you scowl into the glass
And you think how you’d much rather
Be a pretty beardless lass.

Your razor twixt your fingers
You propel from chin to cheek
Until not a whisker lingers
On your smooth and shining beak.

But the part I didn’t mention
On the chin and cheek and lip
When you didn’t pay attention
And the blade began to slip.

Are those pretty scarlet scratches
Scattered o’er your angry face
And those whiskers still in patches
Where your razor missed the place.

So you shout to heck with shaving
And your face with goo still smeared
You resolve to seek a haven
Where a man can grow a beard.

Yes, you sound a violent warning
That you’ll go where men are men
Ah, but wait — tomorrow morning
You’ll be back to shave again.

— Don McNeill

TOP:

The Mann of the
Golden West.

CENTER :
“What’ll we give
’em tomorrow?”

BELOW:

See Poem to left.

Page 81

MYSELF

I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know;
Always to look myself straight in the eye.
I don’t want to stand, with the setting sun
And hate myself for the things I’ve done.

I want to go out with my head erect;

I want to deserve all men’s respect;

But here in the struggle for fame and pelf
I want to be able to like myself.

I don’t want to look at myself and know

Page 82

That I’m bluster and bluff and empty show.

I never can fool myself, and so
Whatever happens I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience-free.

( Author Unknown)

A PROBLEM DEEP

Drowsy eyes, heavy head, in his tired hand clutched
a toy

Dinner done, nightie on, it was bedtime for the little boy.

Yet he climbed into my lap, “Daddy, one more question,
please.”

Brows contracted, weighty problem, as he sat upon
my knees,

“Daddy — firemen, soldiers, sailors, engineers and such,

Do I have to be like that if I ever want to amount
to much?”

Simple question? Ah, but was it? How to make him
understand

For a moment I was speechless, then I took his little hand,

And said, “Tommy, don’t you worry; engineers are
mighty fine,

So are firemen, soldiers, sailors, but you’re a boy of mine,

And I want you to be famous if that’s how it is to be,

But if not, my son, you’ll always mean just as much to me.

So be happy, and keep healthy, like you are — stay sweet
and pure;

If you’ll always be yourself, boy, you’ll amount to some¬
thing sure.”

Pretty pleased with myself, was I — having solved this
problem deep

So I looked to see what Tommy thought — and he — was
sound asleep.

—Don McNeill

sir**

"GOT TO UNDERSTAND"

ufc^Svwi-

DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you are trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh;
When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest, if you must — but don’t you quit.

Got to understand the lad—

He’s eager to be bad.

Were he now exceeding wise,
He’d be just about your size.
When he does things that annoy,
Don’t forget — he’s just a boy.

Life is queer with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a “failure” turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Could he know and understand,
He would need no guiding hand,
Doesn’t know from day to day
There is more in life than play,
More to face than selfish joy.
Don’t forget — he’s just a boy.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man;

Often the straggler has given up

When he might have captured the victor’s cup;

And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure inside out —

The silver tint of the cloud of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It may be near when it seems afar;

So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit —

It’s when things seem worst that you musn’t quit.

Being just a boy, he’ll do
Much you will not want him to.

He’ll be earless of his ways,

Have his disobedient days,

Things of value he’ll destroy,

But reflect — he’s just a boy.

Just a boy who needs a friend —

Patient, kindly to the end;

Needs a father who will show
Him the things he wants to know.

His companionship enjoy.

Don’t forget — he’s just a boy.

(Author Unknown)

(Anonymous)

When members of the Breakfast Club cast dance with
the fans in the audience should they be called fan
dancers?

Don: / don’t mind it now that the baby has taken
over my library. In the evenings I just pull my chair
into the kitchen, open up the refrigerator door and read
by that little light that goes on.

Page 83

gfc'V' -

TO SOMEONE WHO IS THINKING
OF DIVORCE

Do you know what goes on
In the heart of a child of divorce?

One who loves both mother and dad;

No matter what age —

He will always long

For the home that he might have had.

In his childish mind
There is never a doubt

But that mother is a queen and daddy a kin

Don’t you realize

It upsets his whole universe,

When they start their bickering?

He is dreadfully lonely;

In his confused little soul
There lurks this terrible doubt :

“Am I in the way?

I wonder if I am

What they are always quarreling about?”

Oh, you men and women
Who have such a child —

Won’t you change the path you’re pursuing

Take a look into

The heart of your boy or girl

And see (he harm you are doing.

Don’t you know that

Your child is the most precious gift,

The God above ever gave you?

How could you plan to
Destroy all his dreams
To forfeit his faith in you, too?

Page 84

Won’t you forget

That you ever planned

To be other than husband and wife?

And find real happiness
In planning together
To better your little child’s life.

Mrs. James Burgess, Ballston Center, N. Y.

TO AN ADOPTED CHILD

Dear, do not wreep. By every act of mine

I am your mother . . . by my sleepless nights

By every step in the long day’s design

That I have taken; by the sweet delights

Of your blessed companionship; by the clear gaze

By all my care in your beginning days;

Your warm, soft body held against my breast
Warmed me and dried my disappointed tears.

You made a real home of our lonely nest.

Now we look forward to the fruitful years
With you beside us bearing in your hands
The love that every mother heart demands
I am your mother, though you may not be
Flesh of my flesh. Our love goes deeper still.

You are my heart’s adopted part of me.

I am your mother by the power of will.

Because I did not want to walk alone . . .

From the whole world, I chose you for my own.

— Anne Campbell in “Detroit News"

A friend is one who knows all about you and loves
you just the same.

Middle age is that time in a man’s life when he'd rath¬
er not have a good time than have to get over it.

- -

"AND THEY ALL PLAYED BALL"

'IwfSfeVWI'

The game opened with Molasses at the stick and
Smallpox catching. Cigar was in the box with plenty of
smoke. Horn on first base and Fiddle on second base,
backed by Corn in the field, made it hot for Umpire
Apple, who was rotten. Axe came to bat and chopped.
Cigar let Brick walk and Sawdust fill the bases. Song
made a hit and Twenty made a score. Cigar went out
and Balloon started to pitch, but went straight up. Then
Cherry tried it but was wild. Old Ice kept cool in the
game until he was hit by a pitched ball; then you ought
to have heard Ice cream. Cabbage had a good head and
kept quiet. Grass covered lots of ground in the field and

the crowd cheered when Spider caught the fly. Bread
loafed on third and pumped Organ, who played fast and
put Light out. In the fifth inning, Wind began to blow
about what he could do. Hammer began to knock and
Trees began to leave. The way they roasted Peanuts was
a fright. Knife was put out for cutting first base. Light¬
ning finished pitching the game and struck out six men.
In the ninth Apple told Fiddle to take his base. Oats was
shocked. Then Song made another hit. Trombone made
a slide and Meat was put out on the plate. There was
lots of betting on the game and Soap cleaned up. The
score was 2 to 1. Door said if he had pitched he would
have shut them out.

(Anonymous)

Here Are Those Baby Pictures!

Number two baby is Gurgling Don: Fourth from left is Cutie-pie Nancy; Next,
ltsie-bittsie Marion; Last, Worryin’ Walter. Jack won’t admit whether he’s the
first or third infant shown, so you can have your choice.

Page 85

Every Armistice Day for several years it’s been my
pleasure to read on the air a charming story written by
Dorothy Van Houten of Berwick, Pennsylvania. She
based it on an original tale by Mary Raymond Shankland
Andrews, who wrote ‘‘The Perfect Tribute.”

THE YELLOW BUTTERFLIES

At the turn of the century, in a small town in Virginia,
not far from Arlington, there lived a dear little flaxen¬
haired boy. He had beautiful curly hair and when he
played in the sunlight it made his hair look like gold.
His mother noticed yellow butterflies hovering over him
as he played and remarked that they were about the color
of his hair.

The child grew older and was now ready to leave for
school for the first time. His mother walked down the
garden path to the gate to see him off. She loved this
little boy very dearly and was quite sad for she knew she
would miss him very much. Just as he went through the
gate and was turning to wave to his mother, the yellow
butterflies flew all around him and one came to rest on
his head. He liked to see them near and never tried to
catch them or harm them. As he grew to he an older boy,
for some reason the yellow butterflies flew around him
many times.

The years passed very quickly. Now the young man
was graduated. About this time there was dread and fear
of war. His mother’s heart was heavy, for her son, Jim¬
my, we will call him, was already talking about enlisting
if the United States declared war. War was declared in
April, 1917. He enlisted. The day he left for training
camp, his mother and boyhood sweetheart went to the
train to see him off. He tried to be cheerful and make
them feel the same, but his mother’s heart was nearly

'li

broken and his sweetheart was very sad. They heard
the train whistle and knew in a moment he would be
gone, but just before the train arrived, again the yellow
butterflies were there flying all around him. He said,
“You see the butterflies are still with me and they will
he here to welcome me back.”

He went to war. As soon as he could he wrote letters
home, telling his mother and sweetheart to cheer up, the
war would not last long and he would soon be back.
They received quite a number of letters, but suddenly
they stopped coming. His mother thought he may be in
action and couldn’t write and hoped to hear from him
later, but there were no letters for mother or sweetheart.
They scanned the casualty lists. He was never reported
wounded or killed in action; nor did they hear anything
from the Government concerning him. The war was
over. There was no news of any kind.

Time passed on. The broken-hearted mother read in
the newspapers of the dedication to take place at Arling¬
ton. She went. There she saw the tomb and wondered
whose son was lying there. In her heart she felt that it
might be her Jimmy. She tried to listen to the speaker,
hearing very little that was said. Her anguish and pain
was almost unbearable. At last she heard something like
this: “We have come to honor this soldier. He was
selected from a number of ‘Unknown Soldiers.’ No one
knows whose son is lying here.” Just then Jimmy’s
mother gasped. It was all she could do to keep from
crying out. Hovering all about the tomb were swarms of
beautiful yellow butterflies. She knew whose son was
lying there. She thought, “These people have gathered
here to honor my son. It is his tomb they dedicate.”
Then she breathed a silent prayer, “Oh, God! I thank
Thee for these beautiful butterflies. They have come to
welcome Jimmy back home.”

—

«*cV'

■iwV5i6%vi

A BREAKFAST CLUB SQUARE DANCE

Git your partner — swing her by your side,
Kick yer heels and off you glide.

Sling that lady — let ’er go

Then grab her arm with a do se do.

Jump around the ring and shake ’er
Even though you’re fat like Baker.

What do you care if you’ve got big feet.

Look at me. So I ain’t neat!

There comes Susie, Nell and Sal
You don’t mind if she ain’t your gal.

Squeeze her waist and kiss her cheek
Watch her smack you on your beak.

Say, this might get to be a bore.

That’s all there is, there ain’t no more.

Ozark Jim Owens

For Our Boys

DEFINE "PETUNIA"

A petunia is a flower like a begonia.

A begonia is meat, like a sausage.

A sausage and battery is a crime.

Monkey’s crime trees.

Trees a crowd.

The rooster crowd in the morning, and made a noise.
A noise is on your face, like your eyes.

The eyes is the opposite of the nays.

A horse nays; a horse has a colt.

You get a colt in the head and go to bed with
DOUBLE PETUNIA.

(Anonymous)

Page 87

Big Bill Krenz

Diaper Don

£«SV"

'ivv*i)!g%vi

EVELYN LYNNE LEAVES BREAKFAST CLUB

(from Eppes Gazette and Corn County Bungle.)

A local girl, Evelyn Lynne, who used to reside in
Eppes, lias made good in the big city. After several years
in the north she has landed a husband and will reside in
Tulsa, Oklahoma, home of the groom, who is in the radio
broadcasting business, hut is thought well of in spite of
that in his home town. His name is Ed Coontz, no rela¬
tive of Si Coontz who lives five rods from here and whose
heifers are often advertised on these pages. By the way,

Si tells us he has a Jersey Heifer for sale cheap in case
any of our readers are interested. Miss Lynne will he
remembered by the population of Eppes as the young girl
who used to sing so well in the church choir. Since she
left the other member of the choir has been James Has-
keff. As you all know, Mr. Haskeff is in the real estate
business and often advertises on these pages. Right now
he has a choice 40 for sale on the other side of the river.

Asking price is $400 hut he will take anything as his
crops were bad this year again. Miss Lynne will he
married in Chicago and will wear a wedding dress which
she had already bought on time payments according to
her aunt, Miss Honeychile Lynne of East Waters, Alabama.

Miss Honeychile Lynne, as you know', is a seamstress, and
often advertises on these pages. Right now she has sev¬
eral yards of gingham she is holding in lieu of a customer.

The editor of the Eppes Gazette and his staff, my wife,
wish to extend to Miss Lynne an invite to return to her
home town of Eppes when she will he greeted by the
mayor, the fire chief, and the chief of police, all of which
offices your editor has held for forty years as is often
advertised on these pages.

— Don McNeill

LOVE AND ARITHMETIC

He was teaching Eliza arithmetic,

He said that was his mission j

He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,

And said, “Now, that’s addition.”

And so he added smack to smack
With joyful satisfaction
And soon he took a few from her
And said, “That is subtraction.”

And still they sat there side by side,

In mutual admiration
He said, while paying back tenfold-
“That’s multiplication.”

But father came and raised his foot.

And snorted in derision
The chap struck earth three miles away,

Pa said — “That’s long division.”

(A nonymous)

Cadet: Speaking of hunting, the best shot I ever

made was when l fired at one frog and five hundred of
them croaked.

Don once said that an Indian named Benny, rowing
his father up the Hudson River in a canoe, became tired
and asked his dad if he could stop. “Yes,” said the old
man, “that will be all, Benny.” And that, said Don, is
how Albany got its name. .1 New York Historical Society
politely, but coldly, wrote to say that he must have been
misinformed.

Page 88

'1.

Page 89

THE BREAKFAST CLUB

Here is one of those studio inter¬
views with a youngster telling all.

The first Breakfast Cluh engineer
was Charlie Butler, pictured top
right.

“Who’s the boss, you or your
husband?” asks Don and goodness
knows what answer he got.

Walter is ready to cue in the
orchestra as Don returns from the
audience.

Scandal! The M. C. rates a kiss
on the stage on a personal appear¬
ance.

Page 90

KSgV, -

? IN ACTION

“Let’s Draw Straws” and Nancy
got the short one.

The Vagabonds sing much better
when properly refreshed.

If you have a magnifying glass
you might read those signs.

Governor Dwight Green of Illinois
addresses the Breakfast Clubbers
at a bond rally.

Jack becomes “Sir Knight of the
Morning” at the St. Paul Winter
Carnival.

Joe Louis gets Don’s autograph
backstage at a Will Rogers Memo¬
rial Show.

What did the Mayor of Minnea¬
polis say to the Mayor of Chicago
before they went on the air? Don
won’t tell!

Page 91

A LITTLE WALK AROUND YOURSELF

When you’re criticizing others.

And are finding, here and there,

A fault or two to speak of,

Or a weakness you can’t bear;

When you’re blaming someone’s weakness,
Or accusing some of pelf —

It’s time that you went out
To walk around yourself.

iwv*j)!svwi

There are lots of human failures
In the average of us all;

And lots of grave shortcomings
In the short ones and the tall;

But when we think of evils
Men should lay upon the shelves
It’s time we all went out
To take a walk around ourselves.

We need so often in this life
This balancing of scales;

This seeing how much in us wins
And how much in us fails;

But before you judge another
Just to lay him on the shelf —

It would be a splendid plan
To take a walk around yourself.

(Author Unknown)

“Hi-O-Tom and Don!”

Swift heads (jive Don a hand

A master sergeant at Ft. Sheridan

Page S>2

THE GREATEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

A TOAST TO MY SUCCESSOR

“Here is a man who was born in an obscure village,
the child of a peasant woman. He grew up in an obscure
village. He worked in a carpenter shop until He was
thirty, and then for three years He was an itinerant
teacher. He never wrote a book. He never held an
office. He never owned a home. He never had a family.
He never went to college. He never traveled two hundred
miles from the place where He was born. He never did
one of the things that usually accompany greatness. He
had no credentials hut Himself. He had nothing to do
with this world except the power of His divine manhood.
While still a young man, the tide of popular opinion
turned against Him. His friends ran away. One of them
denied Him. He was turned over to His enemies. He
went through the mockery of a trial. He was nailed
upon a cross between two thieves. His executioners
gambled for the only piece of property He had on earth
while He was dying — His coat. When He was dead He
was taken down and laid in a borrowed grave through
the pity of a friend.

“Nineteen wide centuries have come and gone, today
He is the centerpiece of the human race and the Leader
of the column of progress. I am far within the mark
when I say that all the armies that ever marched, and all
the navies that ever were built, and all the parliaments
that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put
together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth
as powerfully as has

THAT ONE SOLITARY LIFE.”

— Bishop Phillips Brooks

Here is a toast that I want to drink to a fellow I’ll never
know — -

To the fellow who’s going to take my place when it’s time
for me to go.

I’ve wondered what kind of a chap he’ll he, and I’ve
wished I could take his hand,

Just to whisper, “I wish you well, old man,” in a way
that he’d understand;

I’d like to give him the cheering word that I’ve longed
at times to hear;

I’d like to give him the warm handclasp when never
a friend seems near.

Will he see all the sad mistakes I’ve made and note all
the battles lost?

Will he ever guess of the tears they caused or the heart¬
aches they cost?

Will he gaze through the failures and fruitless toil to the
underlying plan?

And catch a glimpse of the real intent and the heart of the
vanquished man?

I dare to hope he may pause some day as he toils as
I have wrought,

And gain some strength for his weary task from the
battles which I have fought.

We’ll meet some day in the great unknown — out in the
realm of space;

You’ll know my clasp as I take your hand and gaze in
your tired face,

Then all the failures will be success in the light of the
new-found dawn —

So I’m drinking your health, old chap, who’ll take my
place when I am gone!

■I

Page

INDEX

A Letter from a Shut-In . 9

Ah, Waste No Pity .

A New Start . 10

A Smile . 11

A Letter to a Mother after Pearl Harbor.. 16

A Mother to a Son in Service . 17

A True Story . 23

A Letter from a Son to His Dead Father. . . .32

A Dog’s Prayer for His Master . 33

A Recipe for Cooking a Husband . 31

A Shut-In’s Prayer . 39

A Toast to Mother . 40

As His Mother Used to Do . 40

A Father’s Confession to His Son . 43

A Better World . 36

A Funny Thing . 37

A Bride’s Prayer . 70

A Problem Deep . 32

“And They All Played Ball” . 85

A Breakfast Club Square Dance . 87

A Little Walk Around Yourself . 92

A Toast to My Successor . 93

Breakfast Club Alumni . 44

Breakfast Club Quiz . 50

Bill’s in Trouble . 38

Be Good to Yourself . 72

Page 94

Companionship .

Cadets .

Cycle of a Joke .

Conscience .

“Dear Earl” .

Don’s Swan Song to Gasoline ! .

Definitions .

Day By Day .

Don’t Quit .

Define “Petunia” . . .

Escorts and Betty .

Earful for Brides .

Executives Have Nothing to Do .

Evelyn Lynne Leaves Breakfast Club. .

Fancy with Nancy...

Friends .

Fathers .

Gossiptown .

Grandma is Gone. . .

Gossipy Ears .

“Got to Understand”

.66

.14

.22

.35

.54

.83

.87

.24

.31

.78

.88

His Faults . 8

Handling Women Electrically . . 55

How to Be a Master of Ceremonies . 58

How to Be a Radio Singer — 10,000 Lessons. .59

Horse and Buggy Days . 61

Hammy Drammy . 64

Hard-Earned Wages . 39

High Flight . 79

“It’s Better Than Working” . U

I Love You . 43

I Never Thought to Offer Thanks . 15

I Look At Life . 30

“If” . 34

Is There a Santa Claus? . 46

Instructions for Bowlers .

Keep ’Em Smiling . 3

13 Kisses . 33

33 Kiss Cake Recipe . 33

31 Laugh . 7

T -c 21

.10 Life’s Weaving . 32

,G1 Little Country Town . 56

.75 Luck . 33

.83 Love and Arithmetic . 88

My Dear, Dear Son . 16

Mother . 41

Motherhood . 42

Ma’s Tools . 60

Mother . 63

Me — Myself . 74

Mrs. McNeill’s Song . 76

Myself . 82

Nuthin’ to Leave Behind . 70

Nobody Else But You . 75

O! Give Me Patience . 7

Our Chief Steward . 18

One Month after Christmas . 49

Ode to Robert Patrick’s First Tooth . 63

Pappy’s Recipe . 49

Prayer . 56

Prayer for a Mother . 80

Romeos . 24

Rehearsal . 30

Remember the Time . 36

Shaving Blues . 81

INDEX

The Nation’s Strength . 7

Three Gates . 8

“Tell Her So” . 8

The Louisiana Lark . 12

Those Hills of Long Ago . 20

The People Speak . 22

Ten Years of Breakfast Club History . 26

The Finished Nurse . 31

The Modern Salesman . 35

Trimming the Tree . 47

'Twas the Chris Before Nightmas . 47

The Night after Christmas . 48

The Whirlpool . 52

The End of the Rope . 53

The Nurse . 54

The Town of Don’t You Worry . 54

Tell Him Now . 55

The Bachelor’s Prayer . 60

The Widow’s Mite . 60

To a Child That Enquires . 62

“ 'Twas I Who Chose Your Mother for You”. 63

The Family Doctor . 64

The Moo Cow Moo . 65

Trees . 66

The Truth About Women . 67

The Truth About Men . 67

The Little- Brown Path . 72

Touching Shoulders . 73

The Telephone Girl . 73

Ten Little Motorists . 74

The Homemaker’s Prayer . 78

To Someone Who is Thinking of Divorce... 84

To An Adopted Child . 84

The Yellow Butterflies . 86

The Breakfast Club in Action . 90

The Greatest Man Who Ever Lived . 93

Untouched Yet . 7

Vagabonds . 25

Why Worry . 11

Why God Gave Us Mothers . 41

What the Groom Wore . 53

Where ? . 57

When Pa is Sick . 65

When Ma is Sick . 65

What is Old Age? . 68

What is Golf? . 79

Your Toastmaster . 4

You’re Out . 69

Youth . 71

Page 95

“America is Up. The Breakfast Club Now Leaves the Air!”

Page 96

■ M

* r»

Scanned from the collection of
Karl Thiede

Coordinated by the
Media History Digital Library
www.mediahistoryproject.org

Funded by a donation from
Richard Scheckman

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